BEHIND HER MASK
by noneofyourbusiness885858838
Summary: Troy Bolton walks into Gabriella Montez's life like a hero, making her friends and giving her a life she always wanted. When enemies from the past emerge and secrets are spilled, will Troy stay with her?
1. Chapter One: The Loner

"Mother, please don't make me go." I plead, hopelessly. "I'll switch schools . . . anything."

She ignores my beseeching, "Get in the car, Gabriella."

"No, you misunderstand, mama."

She heads out the door, accessing her indigo-blue van.

I can't help glaring at it as I follow behind her, carrying a book bag that must weigh about eighty pounds. It looks so large on my back; it is simply causing me to slump. I feel insecure already and I haven't even gotten to school yet.

The blue beast looks like rubbish out in our yard. Yet, living in a trailer park, you wouldn't find it odd—a family owning a grotesque van like this one. My mother and father know we are unfortunate but this is our best reminder.

My mother sits in the driver's seat, tapping her bright rosy-red nails on the wheel, impatiently.

I feel regret for even waking up this morning.

I approach the van, opening the passenger's seat and closing the door. It is quite bizarre for an eighteen year old to be still driven by her mother, but we can't afford another vehicle and Mother insists that she must drive it to work. It works out better.

* * *

We arrive at 7:30, only leaving about ten more minutes until class will begin.

We must keep our windows up; the heat in Albuquerque, New Mexico is unbearable.

I hear the bell ring loudly.

Mama looks to me with a rather encouraging smile, "Oh, you go get them, wildcat." She inspirits.

I grab my large bag, slinging it over my shoulder, "See you later, mama."

Senior year at East High has to be different. There has to be some kind of change, something new. It can't always be torment, it can't always be dreadful. Can it?

I hope not.

My locker hasn't changed paths at all. I find it very easy to adjust to my schedule, for I know where all my classes are.

Because of my intelligence and dedication, I have Academic Honor classes. It isn't much of a shock because I have these every year, and most of my classes are extremely peaceful - mostly because _they_ do not have class with me. _They_ are far too thickheaded to achieve such high-scale classes. And, _they_ don't care about their grades.

As I turn around from closing my locker, I see them.

I take in a rather horrified breath.

Every year, they stroll, all together, as one group. They are a clique here. They all walk so confident, as if they can't find anything more to love than themselves.

It makes me feel sick to my stomach.

The leader is Sharpay Evans - a young girl with golden-blonde hair and an obnoxious laugh. Her charm makes the boys go crazy, and she never settles for anything less than what she wants. She is downright selfish, and she doesn't care for anyone except herself. She guides her demented wildcats together, commanding them on their way.

Next to her is Ryan Evans - Sharpay's homosexual brother, who not only listens to everything that Sharpay says, but obeys it on command. He is attractive, sure, with his sandy-blonde hair and sapphire eyes. However, he is only Sharpay's slave. He will fight to the end for his beloved sister.

Chad Danforth comes after Ryan. He never talks to me much, only agrees with what most of them say. He is the captain of the basketball team, and all of the girls find him irresistible. He maintains a rather unique hairstyle, defying gravity in the most absurd way. He looks rather strong in the chest and arms. His dark skin matches his eyes and his hair. He is always wearing ridiculous slogan t-shirts. He's not much of a leader - more of a follower. He goes with the flow.

Jason always seems to be adjacent to Chad. Some say that he admires Chad, that he has a man crush on him. I believe Jason just looks up to all the wildcats. He's anxious to be in the group. You can tell he feels honored to be apart of them. I don't really know Jason. I just know he is extremely egotistical because of this and very irritating. He always says irrelevant things that make Sharpay angry. He's rather harebrained. He has full cheeks - rugged stubble. His eyes are a rather boring brown, along with his hair. There is nothing really out of the ordinary about him.

Zeke goes with Jason and Chad, feeling powerful from his basketball talents. He has a secret crush on Sharpay and is always flirting with her. Of course, she never gives into his charms, and always stays away from him. He is vulgar most of the time, and again, he cannot think for himself. He is strongly dedicated to his reputation. He has dark skin, darker than Chad's. He is a rather large man - only in muscle, of course.

Of course, there are always the female cronies - Miley and Lauren; Sharpay's loyal followers. I dislike them almost as much as I dislike Sharpay.

Miley is stuck up, and has a rather bighead - this leads to a lot of fights between her and Sharpay. She always wants to be number one. Her father wrote a song that became a number one about ten years ago. She's been self-obsessed ever since. She always throws taunts at me. She owns a website that only makes fun of me - literally. She is out to do nothing but ruin my life. Than again, that's practically an understatement. She wishes I do not exist.

Lauren is Sharpay's "kiss-ass". No matter what Sharpay says, no matter how mean she is to Lauren, Lauren stands by her faithfully. It's very annoying. Lauren can never think for herself, and just like the others, Sharpay thinks for her. She is very vulnerable with that position. You see, Lauren refuses to give up this spot. In school, everyone seems to bow down to her and she knows the only reason is because of her and Sharpay's "friendship". Without Sharpay, Lauren's life is pointless, _she_ is pointless. You can just call her Sharpay's sidekick.

They walk with a rather vain stroll - they are boasting. I'm tired of dealing with this. I'm tired of being so defenseless against them. I want to stick up for myself. It's much easier said then done. You cannot take on that many people, when all you have is your own voice. I can try all I want. . . I still have a very meek, fragile voice. Everything about me seems to be broken half the time.

"Montez." Sharpay sneers as she approaches me.

Her group stops as she does.

"I thought you were going to move." She adds with a fake sweetness.

Her eyes are mocking me - she's trying to hurt me. I'm very aware of this.

"She _still _hasn't learned how to put on her makeup, obviously. I mean, look at her." Lauren comments while tossing her hair.

Her eyes glare at me, reminding me of the hatred she feels for me. I try to remain secure.

Sharpay disapproves, "Did I ask for your input?"

Lauren just rolls her eyes and looks away.

"Anyways," Sharpay smirks, nastily, "Gabriella, are you ready for the worst high school year of your life?"

"I've already had that." I mutter, tastelessly.

I can't look at all of them - their glowering is far too much to handle

"Shut up . . . you worthless piece of trash." She snaps at me, venomously. "You'll just have it again now, won't you?"

"She doesn't stand a chance - she'd need plastic surgery, that nose will kill her." Miley adds in, "She'll never get a guy."

"Please, just leave me alone."

"Why? Are you gonna go cry?" Lauren acts as if this is their goal, as if that's what they are longing to make me do.

"Yeah, that's all she can do, she's not good at anything else." Sharpay grumbles.

"I have never done anything to any of you." I furrow my eyebrows, clenching my books as if they are going to save me.

"You're just pointless, that's all," Miley crosses her arms, "nobody likes you. So why do you even bother?"

It's pointless trying to make this better. This will never end. I am a very easy target and they can get to me. I let things get to me.

I live a rather colorless life. There really is no true reason for me to continue on. I don't know why I haven't jumped off a bridge yet, to be completely honest.

At one time, I was actually friends with Chad and Zeke. This may have been years ago but it seems like just yesterday. Chad and I were actually very close. We kind of liked each other. We were very young though so it wasn't something important, not something I think about much. I was so different than - so much more confident, much more charismatic. I didn't cry then. I wasn't broken. Then things happened - things I can't explain to this day - things that made them think differently of me, things I am not responsible of.

Now, I am helpless, and they find it the perfect opportunity. I am the prey - they are the predators.

They shall say more foul things - lead me into a larger hole, bury me even further into my deathbed. Life isn't fair. But it's horrifying when its _people_ who make you realize that. Usually it's fate. I want to believe everyone is equal, we are all the same, no one is better than anyone else. But what they make me feel like . . . well, it's something close to meaningless.

I close my eyes, letting the tears fall loosely from my cheeks, careless to what they think. Their voices are so audible and nerve wracking. I cover my ears, sliding against the locker until I hit the ground, small sobs coming from my mouth occasionally. They make me feel as if I am nothing in this world, as if I might as well just bury myself alive. They make me feel inferior to them. I don't want to live anymore - it's the sudden desire to just dive into fatality - to break away from the reality of well. . Hell. They lead me to the insanity - the insanity of having no confidence within myself, for thinking so little of me, for wishing I could be someone else, have someone else's life.

My heart feels like stone - and the tears refuse to pour down any further. Eventually, emotion dries up.

And then, I open my eyes.

The halls are finally silent. They have abandoned me. Class has started. I am beyond late. And I cannot go into class looking like a wreck - bloodshot eyes and bleeding mascara.

I am very wrong. Senior year is going to be a living hell. I do not have the strength to withstand their insults, but it's something I need. Somehow, I need to muster the strength, to recuperate from the years they have taken from me.

I have to stop caring, to stop letting them get to me.

Lunch is never something I look forward to, mostly because I sit alone in the corner of the room, omitting myself from the rest of humanity. Students tend to look at me and gossip about me - amused that I am sitting alone. This is only because I have no friends. I never go out of my way to speak with people. I don't participate in social activities. I'm not outgoing. I never have been. Even when I had some gall, everybody turned against me. I'm not worthy of having friends. Or so I believe.

I look at myself in my compact mirror. I'm not _that_ ugly, really. I don't wear pounds of makeup or put fake eyelashes on my eyes. I guess I am natural if that makes sense. I only wear a little here and there. I'm not obsessed over my looks. I'm not fashionable and that doesn't bother me. I just don't understand how they can continue deriding my looks. Surely I'm not model material like Sharpay, Miley or Lauren but I believe there are people with worse problems. I don't have skin problems or anything.

I refuse to _ever_ judge someone based on their looks alone though.

I am searching around the cafeteria for nothing. I don't know why I try and make myself feel better about things. Even the "geeks" have friends - they sit together at a table nearby me. I watch them. They seem alienated. I suddenly feel worse. Am I really that much of an outcast, to be sitting here, repulsed by half of the student population? I'm about to hang my head and feel even more sorry for myself when I see _him_ walk in.

He walks into the cafeteria - his stroll is rather fluent but I can see the hesitance in his steps. He seems to be looking around, as if in search for someone to talk to. I can tell he lacks the potential to do that. It's easy to tell he's not used to the school - that he's new to this environment. If I can describe him in one word, I say he's beautiful. I watch him for a second - unable to restrain my eyes. I forget about the mindless things I have been thinking about.

His hair seems to define the word perfect - it's a dark brown and manages to stay in place as he walks. His eyes seem endless in green and blue. He's very . . . tan. I imagine sun does that to him. His features are what God would grace on celebrities and models though. He seems like someone who doesn't belong in EH but more-so a modeling place. His beauty is intimidating to me - from his deep eyes to his muscular chest.

I turn away. I must. I want to forget the idea that an unthinkably good-looking young man just walked in and the entire air changed. I even feel my oxygen decrease while staring at him. It's as if the wind has been taken away from me. I've never seen something more . . . beautiful.

I look over to Sharpay, curious to whether she's rested her eyes on him yet. I don't know why I personally care. This is just stupid. I feel embarrassed that I'm even curious. And then I turn my eyes back to him. I can't help it.

My lips depart and I find myself in literal shock that he's looking _directly_ at me. Again, I'm mesmerized by the way he's so good-looking, especially his eyes. I'm just caught scrutinizing his face, unable to turn away, though I want to.

At this second, something very strange happens. A small, yet visible smile appears across his lips. It seems like a more polite, forced smile, but it's good natured. Maybe it's the unfamiliarity of the situation - the fact that someone is acknowledging me and not assuming I'm an alien. I don't smile back, but I can see him and I realize that he's walking towards me.

Why? I panic. My heart starts to race and I furiously attempt to regain my sanity. I almost wish he wouldn't. I begin to pray he just decides against it and walks away. I can't talk - I'm horrible at talking.

He's not even in my league; he's out of this world attractive, someone Sharpay would undeniably welcome into her group, and someone anyone would welcome into their group. But still, he continues walking . . . to come and talk to me - the school's biggest loser.


	2. Chapter Two: The Clueless New Guy

Every step seemed a century away. I was anxious, my heart slamming against my chest.

He finds the seat next to me that is vacant and effortlessly sits down, questioning blue eyes glancing at me from the side.

"Hey, you mind if I sit here?"

It's hard for me to even keep my eyes on him. He must think I'm rude, like I'm ignoring him when I'm just all-around bashful.

"No." I regain my voice, though it is weak.

"I'm Troy." He introduces himself with a friendly smile.

"G-Gabriella." My words are clumsy; I'm still rather perplexed on why he wants to sit next to me out of all people.

"I just moved here. You looked . . . harmless compared to most of the people here."

I long to laugh, but I can only crack a smile, still in shock. I must be dreaming.

"Is there something on my face? You look kinda freaked out. I'm sorry if I scared you. I tend to be overly friendly sometimes."

I have to detest, "No, no. I'm just surprised."

He seems confused, "What do you mean?"

"It's nothing. I'm just not very popular here and if that's what you're going for, you should probably stay away from me."

"Are you dangerous?" He asks; a sudden look of worry in his eyes.

To this assumption, I cannot refrain from laughing. This boy does not know me, and he has no idea who I am or whom people claim I am. It just seemed facetious to me, how he misjudges me so much. Doesn't he wonder why I'm sitting all by myself?

"Definitely not."

"Then, what's the problem? You look fine to me." These words are powerful to me, although they would be meaningless to someone else.

"They enjoy plowing my head into the toilet, that's the problem." I mutter, but my voice is so low I'm positive he doesn't hear me.

"Wait, what?"

"Forget about it. I have been bullied since about second grade. I have no friends; my IQ is about that of a genius. I'm not perfect, I'll admit, but it's difficult when others keep throwing that in your face." I explain, direfully.

My words are so pessimistic; they make me want to cry.

"So you're smart. So am I. What's the matter with that?" His eyes comfort me. "What people say isn't going to affect what I think of you."

But doesn't he want to be "cool"? Doesn't he aspire to have lots of friends? Doesn't he want to be looked up to, to be admired?

"You are insane. Don't hurt yourself."

He has to be, I conclude. In high school, reputation seems to be the most important thing to most people.

"Not really, I just think for myself, not for other people." Troy's very quick on his feet and he seems to have a way with words.

"Well, thank you for being polite - I'm quite sick and tired of getting stabbed in the back, so you can go ahead and find your crowd and become one of them."

I know I sound uncouth, and it's unlike me. However, I know Troy's type. He won't be around for long. Once he finds Sharpay's group, I will be nothing but a distant stranger.

"My crowd? I'm just being nice!"

He seems insulted by my accusations.

"Gabriella?" My name isn't even attractive enough for his voice to recite it. "If you want, I can leave. You just looked lonely and I don't know anyone here." He confesses, almost embarrassed.

I look into his eyes, and see the sincerity. I don't know why I'm being cruel to this young man that I have just met. He is being kind - he isn't taunting me. I have no reason to not trust him, yet I have no reason _to_ trust him. I'm torn. I'm so very used to Sharpay's friends lining up to hurt my feelings. For some reason, I have a feeling Troy may become one of those friends.

* * *

_Today. I thought, cloudlessly. Today he was going to tell me, he was going to ask me out._

_I couldn't take off the smile. Anxiety consumed me. I knew that today was going to be the day. He was so into me all week, and he told me he wanted to talk to me today._

_I walked into the lunch room and become even more elated when I seen him standing in the corner, waiting for me, infinitely. I waved to him, my heart racing at the sight of his adorable face. I began walking towards him, my confidence becoming stronger and stronger with each step._

_"Gabby." There was an unfamiliar expression on his face. _

_I looked at him strangely, "Eric? You look . . . upset."_

_He was nervous, he had to be. This was just his way of telling me how he felt, telling me how he wanted to be with me, always. _

_There was pain evident in his sky-blue eyes as he ran a hand through his golden-blonde hair, "We made this website." _

_Suddenly, he went in a different direction - a direction I wasn't expecting._

_"It was Sharpay's idea." He struggled with his words, as if this was the hardest thing in the world for him to say. "I had nothing to do with it at first. But Sharpay promised me from the get-go that if I dated you and found out a few things about you, she'd help me get in with the group."_

_"I didn't really want to do this; I just wanted to be cool. I'm really sorry. I feel like such a jerk." His words weren't even consoling to me at all. They were just cruel, like daggers puncturing into my heart, one at a time. _

_"You . . . what?" _

_He had done it. Every ounce of trust I had put in him was just a waste of time. I had simply just fed "the group" more information; more things they could throw in my face and make me feel bad about. From that day on, I promised myself I would never trust a boy again._

* * *

And you know what hurts the most? I believed Eric would keep it all secret - because I had fallen for his little game, I believed he actually cared.

I want to cry at the still vivid memory. I want to make it vanish, for it to never encounter my thoughts again. It is such a scar, such a permanent crack on my heart.

My trust has been broken numerous times by Sharpay's friends, but when my first love told me he used me just to be "cool" - it was the worst feeling in the world. I could not breathe; I could not even function without bursting into tears. At that point of my life, I was an emotional wreck.

As I break out of my thoughts, meeting Troy's blue eyes, I realize that most of the people in the cafeteria have left for class. The bell must have rung awhile ago, while we were talking. I was oblivious to it, too heated in the eye-contact with Troy and the figment of my unforgettable memories. My heart throbs at every single thought, at every single image.

"You don't look well - I'll walk you to class." He offers, generously.

On the way, he looks at my schedule, and tells me that we have no classes together. He seems kind, carrying most of my books that weigh more then ninety pounds all together.

Girls glance at him, curiously, and I feel the anger rise within me. Once Sharpay knows, I'm finished - he will never speak with me again. I will be the odd one out again, the loner, the wallflower, the grotesque girl that nobody likes.

He walks me to Trigonometry.

"Well, Gabriella, it was nice meeting you." His warm smile makes my heart race for what seems like the millionth time today.

"Gabriella, you've never introduced me to your new friend!"

I feel every muscle in my body tense up at her presence. I'm ready for her dumb remarks and her burning insults. I have to be prepared - I can't go off running.

I turn, as does Troy.

When he sees her, he throws on a cool, collected smile, that she seems easily affected by, "I'm Troy. Troy Bolton."

She giggles at him, "I'm Sharpay. Sharpay Evans." She then turns to me, faking a smile, "I didn't know you were friends with Gabby."

My heart sinks at the small memory of what Eric always used to call me. I know that Sharpay is just trying to get underneath my skin.

Troy seems completely oblivious, and keeps smiling at her, "Well, I just approached her; she was sitting alone at lunch."

"Right, well aren't you the savior? And I love your shoes. Tell me they have them in women's sizes."

He seems flattered, "Oh, really? Thanks. Yeah, I believe they're made in Mexico."

She giggles at his attempt of humor.

He doesn't get that she's flirting with him. At all.

"Well, I have to go to class. Tootles! I'll see you around, Troy." She waves at him.

He, of course, replies with a wave.

"She seems nice."

He has no idea, whatsoever.


	3. Chapter Three: Her Broken Reality

Senior year is going by extremely slowly. I spent most of my days and most of my nights finishing homework, studying for tests, and working at Route 66 - the local diner that I have been a waitress at since I was fourteen.

I assume the delay in my life is most-likely because of the lack of socialization. I have no one, still. I don't really know what happened to Troy. After he met Sharpay, he seemed to of vanished. I haven't seen him since that day that he introduced himself to her, that unenlightened smile playing on his face. It's cute, how oblivious he is to people's faults, yet it agitates me. I know that he is gone forever, that she has manipulated him - she has taken him under her wing already.

About three weeks later, East High's current topic seems to linger on nothing but the upcoming basketball games. I turn my ear, not caring. I've never been involved in sports, or athletic clubs. East High's students are awkwardly obsessive over basketball. Most of the people on the team have been playing since they were four, and they have the biggest heads about it.

I head to my locker, like any other day.

I try to put away the memory of what happened last night with my parents. I can't stand them—arguing about money and whatnot. My father acts as if it is my mother's problem, as if she has caused this pain upon our family. Isn't it the man's job to work? He enjoys hitting her around, making marks on her face, heedless to the impact he might make on her feelings. It isn't the first time, and I know it isn't the last time.

Mother is just too in love with him to leave him. He brings in the majority of money, and without him, we'd be living on the streets, without a doubt.

I curse at her for her ignorance. But at the same time, I can't even begin to put myself in that position. I hardly know what love is; I only discovered puppy love with my first crush Eric, who turned out to be playing me the entire time. I don't know what that whole "I can't live without you" feeling is about. I'm completely and utterly unaware of overwhelming feelings like that.

"Hey."

His voice surprises me, as does the way my heart skips a beat at the sound.

Troy Bolton stands there, his hands in his pockets, an anxious grin on his face. He is wearing a red t-shirt that has the word "Wildcats" on it. It is no surprise to me that he'd fit in so well already.

He's so close to me, it makes me feel uncomfortable.

"Hi." I retort, a bit confused on why he decides now would be the best time for us to be friends again.

"I made the basketball team!" I can tell he's proud of himself.

I can't seem to share the same happiness though.

"That's . . . great." I sound so mediocre that I don't even convince myself.

"I really like it here." He begins, his eyes glistening with hospitality. "At first I thought the people were kind of... scary." He chuckles to his own remark. "But after going to basketball practice... there are these guys, Gabriella, and they all like basketball. . . I mean, I'm kind of really into basketball, you know? And so-"

"Yes, I know they're all into basketball, also." I cut him off, listlessly.

It is obvious how dedicated the basketball team is to basketball. He seems so excited about it. It is adorable to see him so happy, but I know that he is becoming apart of that crowd. Well, he kind of already is apart of them.

"These guys are so cool, Gabriella! And the girls are totally awesome. . ." Troy rants on, an exuberant grin on his face. "I really like East High."

"I'm . . . glad." I manage to squeak out, not sure on what else to say.

I force a tiny smile, hoping he doesn't see the girl behind the mask.

"Troy."

We both turn, him more quickly then me.

Sharpay Evans stands conveniently there, her arms folded, looking extravagant, yet annoyed as usual. She's chewing gum obnoxiously, and her eyes are fixated on Troy, who gives her a chummy wave.

"Hey! Sharpay."

I suddenly feel like a shadow by the locker. I move backwards, almost tripping over my own feet. And then I feel two hands catch me, "Gabriella. Are you all right?"

Breathing becomes difficult. I can tell Sharpay's amused by the fact that I'm so affected by their sudden friendship.

"Sharpay and I are gonna walk to fifth hour." He informs me.

I blink, trying to take in the information and look over to Sharpay, who still has that presumptuous smirk on her face.

My resentment for her increases dramatically.

"Wait," He pauses, as if he almost forgot to tell me something.

He turns to face me, a hopeful expression in his eyes. It makes me weak at the knees, and I lose control of my senses.

"Will you go to the game on Friday? It's our first game." His eyes are beseeching.

I notice Sharpay is now tapping her heels, impatiently.

I look back to Troy, who is looking at me with heartening eyes.

"It wouldn't be of much importance if I went. I wouldn't have anyone to sit by." I admit, with mortification.

I avert my eyes to floor, not wanting him to see the sadness that is now provident in them. I'm a loner - I have no one. I'll be sitting alone on the bleachers, while Sharpay sits with her clique, egging him on maniacally.

"I want you to come." His eyes never leave my face.

"Why? I'm so confused by you, Troy. They hate me." I whisper, my eyes glancing over to Sharpay's direction.

"Um, what? They've never said anything about you, Gabriella."

I look at him in shock, "Nothing?"

"Nothing. Now don't worry about it, just come. You'll like it, I promise." He assures me, a comforting tone to his voice.

I'm mesmerized by him. He's so very persuasive. I nod my head, slowly, looking back to Sharpay, who now is glaring at me angrily. I can tell that she wants him all to herself; she doesn't want someone like me speaking with him.

I watch him walk to her, giving her a cultivated smile as he approaches her. She looks back at me for a second, as if boasting that he is walking with her.

I just watch them, in despair, and in confusion. They seem to be just companions. I know that it's irritating her; she seems much more involved in him. But I'm a bit grateful. I have no chance, whatsoever, but it makes me feel better that her odds are low also.

I think he's just too good for anyone. Too perfect.

* * *

School ends in a monotonous matter. I head towards my locker as usual. I don't have to work at the Diner tonight, so I'm free to do what I like. That is practically a joke to me though, considering the fact that I don't have any transportation besides my feet. I don't feel like walking one hundred thousand miles tonight.

To ease my mind, I head to my literature class, deciding to get ahead on the extra credit the teacher had handed out today. She is ardent towards the idea, and lets me sit in a desk and start immediately. Most of my days consist of just schoolwork and studies. I'm never accompanied by people, nor am I ever pestered by adults. I lead an unembellished life in which I'm the star, the main character, my own savior. And I don't expect anything else.

I must have grown torpid towards it, for I never seem to mind being alone. I actually enjoy the silence, the independence. I live for moments where I'm left immanent, all by my lonesome. I strive to get away from people, to avoid their bittersweet stares. Maybe that is why I'm acting so bizarre towards Troy's compassion towards me - I don't want it.

Call me crazy for not wanting the attention of the most gorgeous boy in the school, but it is just abnormal for someone to even show the littlest disregard towards me. I could understand it if he is feeling pity for me - he feels bad because nobody truly likes me, but the fact that he told me they never speak a cruel word about me throws me off completely. Why haven't they? What is stopping them? Are they waiting for the right moment?

The curiosity seems to drive me insane.

"Gabriella, you look beat. You should call it a day. I have to leave anyways. It's almost five o'clock." Mrs. Cooper looks at me with visual concern, packing up her things without glancing down once.

I pack up my things and head outside, greeting the usual blistering wind. New Mexico is scorching, all year long. It is September, but that doesn't matter. Albuquerque becomes used to these warm temperatures, and nobody bothers wearing pants. I mean, we are in the middle of a desert. Who would be moronic enough to suffocate themselves in heavy clothing? ... I refuse to.

The sun doesn't set until late, so the skies still give a cyan color. The sun beats down on my eyes heavily as I make my way out. I begin walking towards the direction of my trailer park, when I hear loud, bellowing voices from behind the school.

My nosiness has gotten the best of me, as I quietly tiptoe towards the back of the school, only to be shocked at the sight of three guys playing basketball. To my heart's dismay, one of them appears very similar to Troy Bolton.

They are hanging out in the courtyard, by the basketball hoop. I assume that practice has already ended and they are just messing around. It is impressive how there are basketball hoops at almost every corner of the school - that's how awkwardly obsessive East High is about its basketball team.

Chad and Zeke are located in the group, looking anxious to get their hands on the ball. I figure they are all just kidding around, trying to steal the ball. Troy is dribbling, a concentrated frown on his face. It looks as if he is ready to make a shot.

"Troy, you take so long!" Zeke complains, with an irritated sigh.

Chad chuckles, "He has to get "the perfect angle", duh."

Troy goes for the shot, his eyes fixating on the hoop. The ball goes from his hands, indubitably and flawlessly making the hoop.

Troy turns to face his buddies, a disdainful smile on his lips. He has beads of sweat pouring down his smooth, bronze-colored face, and he still looks as ravishing as ever. I can't help but watch them, intensively. They all seem so amused by basketball.

"All right, Chad, you're up." Troy threw the ball to Chad.

"Troy, what is this, "shoot the hoop and win a cookie"? Let's play an actual game." Zeke whines, folding his arms.

Chad makes an agile attempt to catch the ball, and does, "its cool, man. We can do it the Troy way today."

"Sounds good." Troy comments, as Chad swiftly passes him, making a hook shot at the hoop.

It goes in, as usual.

"They're so good, you know?" A voice startles me.

A young girl that I have never seen before stands there, her arms folded, a bag on her back as if she has just descended the school's doors. She must be African-American, her eyes and hair matches her skin color flawlessly. She is pretty in her own way, but I can't help but back away at her approach.

"You know any of them?" She inquires, her eyes looking at me, sideways.

I look down to my feet, suddenly losing my ability to talk. Bashful, as usual.

"Slightly." I manage to mutter out, though I don't find myself convincing.

"Chad's in my Physics class." She begins, a sudden look of infatuation hinted in her eyes as she watches him dribble, then make another hoop.

"But you don't hang out with Sharpay's group?" I question, suddenly befuddled by her appearance.

"God no, I hate that woman." The girl spurts, aversion in her eyes.

I can't help but smile a bit. I haven't met someone who doesn't like Sharpay, but the girl seems warm, friendly even. But at the same time, I can't help but feel hesitant towards her.

"You?" She glances at me from the side again, raising an eyebrow.

"N-no, no. They dislike me."

"I'm Taylor." She continues, still watching Chad.

We stand in silence for a second. I have to ponder on giving her my name. She seems shocked by my hesitation.

"Well, what's your name? I'm not going to bite you. I promise I'm not like any of them." She points to the aggressive basketball players who at this very moment in time seem ready to rip each other's necks off.

Even Troy has an enormous grimace on his lips, as he glares daggers at Zeke who is ready to shoot any time now. They must have decided to stop shooting and just play one-on-one.

I can't help but giggle at her comment. It is humorous.

"I'm sorry, I'm just used to Sharpay's clique being . . . well . . . you know. I'm Gabriella." I still sound so tentative; I figure she thinks I'm petrified out of my pants.

"Well I'm sure there are some people in Albuquerque who aren't like Sharpay's cronies." Taylor remarks, snickering a little.

I look over to Troy, who has suddenly noticed our appearance behind the fence. He seems surprised at first, and my face reddens as his eyes light up in recognition. I didn't intend on staying here so long. He must think I'm stalking him. Chad and Zeke don't notice.

"Troy Bolton? Is that your interest?" Taylor suddenly inquires.

"Oh, no, we're friends." I stutter quickly, as he eyes me with curiosity.

"But, I'm sure you have a crush on him or something. He just moved here and the girls have been going wild over him."

I don't say anything, not really knowing what to say. She has unraveled my obsession for Troy, but if I say anything else, then she will automatically assume that she read me right. And I can't have it that way.

"It's hard when your soul mate has their eyes elsewhere." She snorts, breaking the peaceful silence.

Her expression has changed dramatically from the happy, optimistic state, to a now forlorn, depressed frown. I suddenly feel sympathy for her. I can tell by the way that she is looking at Chad that she yearns for him, a lot.

"Soul mate?" I didn't really understand her terms.

"You just know when it's meant to be, I guess. Or so they say. It's always been like that with Chad, I just don't think he'll ever be able to dedicate himself fully to me. I think he's afraid of commitment. Every time we get close, he just backs away.." She blurts out, closing her eyes as if reliving pain she never has before.

She then looks at me, a remorseful expression on her face, "I'm sorry. You don't even know me and I'm like spilling my heart out to you. You must think I'm insane."

I shook my head, "No. . . Sometimes it's better to get things off of your chest." I suggest, though I can't say I know that from personal experience.

My life is a closed book, or a secluded diary. Nobody ever is let in, and nothing is ever let out. Nobody knows me, personally. Nobody knows my secret agony, what I cry myself to sleep at night about, or why the windows in our trailer are harbored with boards for protection. And talking about it will just result in a nightmare.

I don't realize that Taylor is heading towards the courtyard when I turn back to face her. She simply flags me, as if coaching me to come with her. I'm reluctant. I know that Chad and Zeke despise me, and I still don't know how Troy will act in front of his "pals".

Though, trying to regain my strength, I suck my breath in and head towards the door, following loyally behind her.

They come out of the courtyard, their bags around their arms, lazily, sweat prickling down their faces, and a variety of expressions on each of their faces.

Chad looks delighted to see Taylor and he smiles at her genuinely as he notices her. Yet when he looks to me, he frowns a bit, a sudden antipathy emitting him. I feel uncomfortable under his glare.

Zeke does not look excited for either of us but throws me a simple glance that proves all together that he doesn't want me near him. He shows his detest in his eyes. They are burning in rage. And his knuckles are clenched, viciously.

So it does seem a bit of a relief to look at Troy's upbeat smile. He seems pleased to see me, the smile proving every thing. All my worries seem to vanish at just the sight of his tranquilizing ocean-blue eyes.

"Hey." He's approaching me.

"Hey... I, um, stayed after school and came outside and. . . ." I begin, nervously. I don't want to look like an obsessive stalker.

"No need for an explanation." He cuts me off, heedless to my jumble of words.

I feel more comfortable knowing that he isn't worried about me following him around like a puppy dog.

"Dude, what's with this?" Zeke's repugnant voice destroys my confidence easily, still throwing disgusted glares my way.

"Troy." Chad looks to Troy, a solemn, yet aggravated look on his face. He then looks to me, as if cuing Troy on what he is talking about.

I feel insignificant to them as they refer to me so lowly, as if I'm lower class then they are, as if I don't deserve to be near them. I feel like an imbecile, but I'm also furious towards their ignorance. I can't let my weakness show though—I refuse to become affected by their crude insults this time. I can not look vulnerable in front of Troy.

"What?" Troy looks completely unaware of what they're talking about.

"That." Zeke snarls, looking to me with distaste.

I bite my bottom lip roughly, trying to control my hurt emotions.

"Yeah, man, that's kind of a problem." Chad supports, his expression turning pensive, as if I'm just so dangerous or something.

"She seems cool to me." Taylor butts in, as Troy begins to open his mouth.

I'm almost relieved that Troy doesn't get the chance to speak. I can't withstand the pain of him insulting me also. Or having to defend me. Either way, I dislike being so lame to everyone else. He must think I'm a loser by now.

"I'm going to head home." My bottom lip quivers at my own statement, and I have to fight back the urge of hot tears storming to my face.

I'm unwanted by all of them. I glance at Taylor, giving her a thankful smile, the tears beginning to welt up into my eyes unexpectedly. I have to turn away, afraid to let them go. They just can't give me a chance; they are too involved in Sharpay's group.

* * *

I head towards the school, the front doors, about to turn right and head towards my neighborhood. The tears are loosely falling from my eyelids, the modest pang of affliction rising through my soul. I have lost all confidence and all motivation to continue. I don't want Troy to think of me as a low-life. I expect something more. But I'm mildly insane so it doesn't matter what I expect. He simply feels mercy for my situation and feels as if he has no other choice. It'll be impossible for someone with such high standards to even think about caring about someone as puny and feeble as me. He deserves a gorgeous blonde bombshell, like Sharpay. They are meant to be together. I can't maneuver fate. That is a crime.

As if reflecting my moodiness, the sky seems a bit darker; maybe the clouds are just gloomy. The heat continues as I walk, the cement burning my flip flops.

"Gabriella!"

I avoid the yell and continue walking, rubbing my eyes. I figure that my mascara and eyeliner has been smeared all over my eyes, ruining their color. I must look extremely disgusting by now.

Then I hear an angel call my name again. My word, I despise how beautiful his voice sounds to me. I turn around, hoping that maybe even if I'm in a dream that he'll be standing there, waiting endlessly for me to turn around and speak with him.

And of course, to my perfect irony, he stands there, still as ever, his azure-colored eyes just staring at me with concern, as if he's worried.

It's then I realize that maybe somebody in East High School does have a heart. And he goes by the name of Troy Bolton.


	4. Chapter Four: It's Kinda Fascinating

Maybe it's just my imagination.

It all began when he simply came and sat down next to me, acting if I was a normal, ordinary person.

It's dimwitted of me to judge him in so little time. I'm already convinced that he's just the rest of them - he's out to get me too. I do not have any real reason not to trust him but I have every reason in the world to trust him. He has never been rude to me; he's always treated me like a human being. So why do I automatically run and hide? Why do I always think of the worst possible? Why am I so pessimistic? Just because I have been let down so many times before.

I don't have to turn around to feel his presence - his shadow amplifies in the sunlight, it seems to make him larger than he truly is. I can notice the outline of his hair, and the edges of his arms. Even in the shadows, he is breathtaking. Is that even possible? I do not feel like analyzing this.

He has his hands in his pockets, his posture proving he doesn't feel like doing this, that maybe he is dreading it.

I stop my pointless pacing at the sight of him. I'm curious; there is no doubt about this. I'm curious to why such a foolproof human being would ever want to speak with me. I'm supposed to be someone he doesn't take notice of, someone irrelevant. It makes me nervous, thinking about how our worlds are so very different.

"I'm sorry about them. They were being rude."

I guess I don't know what to say in response. I mean, I could mutter a simple "it's okay", or I could go out of my way and spill my feelings about his friends to him. But neither sound appropriate. I don't want him to think I'm a lunatic, so I suppress the urge to tell him everything. He won't believe me—he thinks his friends are "so cool".

I still keep my back to him, while he fidgets, as if trying to muster the words he wants to say. I wonder why he strains so hard to impress me—I am nothing special, just a troubled girl.

"They. . . always judge people they don't know. They'll like you eventually, I'm sure." As usual, he's upbeat and positive.

I continue looking down, not wanting him to notice the girl behind the mask. I'm holding back a rough batch of tears that long to be released. Fortunately for me, he isn't close enough to see my watery eyes. I don't know why I'm so emotional. It's just hard to think about how no one likes me.

"Are you . . . crying?" He comes closer - his voice is now soft.

I stiffen, not wanting him to see the agony I hold behind my eyes.

"Please, Troy. They will be wondering about you. Go back, I will see you tomorrow. My mother would want me home right now." My tone is rigid, I keep my strength.

"Gabriella."

I turn to face him, although I'm afraid to meet those eyes. They're so powerful, burning into my own.

"I'll take you home." He's so generous, of course.

I cannot let him."No, it's okay. I have walked home from here many times."

Maybe he is more acute than he proves to be. It seems like he notices something is wrong, that something is up with me. Then again, any intelligent person could figure that out. I am paranoid about him driving a foot near my house. Then again, it isn't even a house - it is a smutty trailer. It's one of those trailers you would see only in movies, the movies where the Hillbillies live together in a disgusting trailer that has cockroaches crawling everywhere.

It is located in one of the dirtiest areas of Albuquerque, and nobody faulted to notice this. I never speak a word about where I live, or what my lifestyle is like, but others seem to find out, miraculously.

When Sharpay somehow unraveled my humble adobe, it was the first thing she taunted me on. We are poor; we live in a junkyard, practically. We hardly have any money, and when we do, it is hardly enough to give food to our family. I avoid the trailer as much as possible, not wanting to be seen near it. It is a hideous thing - grim and greasy from rust and age. We even have our monster of a vehicle sitting beside it most of the time, adding to its filthiness. Our windows are boarded, boarded with as many boards as we can muster, nailed. We don't usually have problems, most robbers and criminals let us be. Sometimes, we'll hear a few mafias outside; whispering about their next ordeal. Sometimes it is scary going to bed at night; I always hear the shotguns.

And here, golden boy, Troy Bolton, wants to take me there. He is bound to see everything—from the inside and out. He is to find out how much of a lowlife I truly am, he is about to open the door to find something he doesn't want. And then he'll leave me, all alone once again.

"You're crazy . . . at night?" His eyes glide around the neighborhoods filled with horror.

"Yes, at night."

"I'm not going to let you." Stringent blue eyes face me in the twilight.

As usual, his eyes are tearing me apart.

"Troy, please."

"No. Do you know how bad I would feel if something happened to you?"

"It shouldn't matter. Please, let me go." I whimper, trying to get passed him.

He grabs my arm, without aggression, as I begin walking passed him. I freeze at his touch.

"Fine." I muster out, losing my strength.

* * *

I don't bother questioning on his Audi R8 that he drives. I can only dream about driving a car so beautiful, something that I can never get my hands on even if I want to. It is a deep silver, and spotless. It is the second most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life, the first being Troy Bolton.

He assures me that it is okay with his friends, him taking me home. I tell him to drop me off at a street before the trailer park. I figure that he won't notice, that he will speed away before I can make a dart for the bad area of the neighborhood—also known as the trailer park.

The ride is awkwardly silenced, as if neither of us knew what to say.

"Wow, I can't believe you walk around here alone." His eyebrows furrow as he continues eyeballing the neighborhoods around us.

"Troy, it's nothing, really."

He looks around as if he has just encountered the most horrible nightmare of his life. He looks terrified, as if he is afraid that something might jump out of the bushes and eat him.

It amuses me; I have taken the road so many times. The sky seems to be so much dimmer, a radiant black. The stars cling loosely from it, creating the most gorgeous atmosphere. Troy's hair seems to shine in the moonlight, along with his perfect features. I'm hypnotized by the perfect picture in front of me.

"Here?" He inquires, coming to a complete stop.

The neighborhoods look the same, maybe a bit messier. Some African American toddlers are outside playing basketball, yelling loudly, by their house. Another grotesque woman sits in a rocking chair outside of her house, just watching the neighborhood—a creepy look in her eyes. Troy glances towards them, and shivers with distraught.

"I don't live here." I lie, biting my bottom lip, nervously. "I called my mother on my cell phone earlier—she said she would pick me up here."

Troy's eyes catch mine through the darkness. "You worry me."

"Why?" I ask, bewildered. "I am of no great importance, I can assure you."

"You seem different." He observes an unreadable expression on his face. "Like there's some part of you I don't really know. It's kinda fascinating." He looks away, a sudden confused look on his face.

"Fascinating? Please. Troy, I do nothing that is fascinating." I chuckle.

His eyes find mine again. "You were crying." He mumbles, biting his bottom lip. "Surely they can't mean that much to you."

I become silent for a second. It isn't as if they mean a lot to me. It is more-so that after all of this time, they still continue to torment me. And they do it in front of him. It seems humiliating.

"They do not. I just take things too seriously."

"Well, I think you seem cool." He comments, a small smile on his face. He has no idea how this comment affects me. "Though I don't know you well enough to judge you. But whose fault is that?" He jokes, winking at me.

"Troy. . ." I begin, not knowing what to say.

He is suave, as I'm the opposite.

"I must go." I open the door, letting myself out.

He watches me, as I begin walking towards the darkness.

I walk back towards his car, "What are you doing?"

"I don't trust this place." He answers, stubbornly.

"I will see you at school tomorrow." I give him one more glance before stepping aside, beginning to walk into the darkness again.

"Gabriella!" He calls out, from his window. "Don't let people get the best of you. It makes things harder."

It is humorous that he would say something like that—as if he can relate, or something ridiculous like that. He cannot. Maybe I judge him too much. Though, he seems like he has everything in life, money, friends, and looks. And I have none of the following. Maybe that's why he is fascinated with me. Because I lack everything he has.


	5. Chapter Five: I'm Not Like Them

The darkness eclipses my eyes as I begin my walk home. Maybe it is ignorant of me to avoid mentioning to Troy that I do not live here, that I live about three blocks down, in a trailer park. I feel guilty for not being ultimately honest with him. I mean, I have no reason to not trust him, no reason to try and make him believe I'm normal, that I live a lifestyle similar to everybody else. I just, for some harebrained reason, care what he thinks about me—maybe too much.

Little children that look young and grimy hang out on their porches, or their driveways. They watch every single person that walks by, carefully, as if they are paranoid. They glance at me, worriedly. They look the same—mostly boys with dark hair and matching eyes. They wear torn up, soiled clothing, and a timorous expression, as if they are afraid of me. I attempt to give them a small smile, hoping that they'll understand I'm not here to rob them, that I don't intend on putting a knife to their neck anytime tonight. I feel sympathy for them. And it makes me realize how unfortunate this side of Albuquerque is. I begin almost feeling bad for myself. How do I manage to live such a dreadful, frightening life?

I can hardly see anything; their faces seem to blur within the dimness. I continue walking, keeping my eyes straight ahead, suddenly affright. I took Troy's words seriously. I don't realize how horrifying it truly is around here until he mentioned it. It really isn't safe, a young teenage girl wandering the empty, filthy neighborhoods like this at night. I feel vulnerable, as if I am exposing myself to the world of danger.

I arrive finally, after experiencing the worst walk I have taken yet. I cannot stop thinking about Troy's comments. Maybe I am insane, taking such rough paths at night, risking my life just to get back to this hideous trailer. I might as well pack up my things and run away from this place.

I walk into the house, casually, ignoring my parents, who are bellowing at each other in the dinky, mediocre kitchen. Then again, it cannot even be considered a kitchen—it doesn't add up to a normal kitchen's standards. It lacks food, and it lacks character. It is plain, colorless, and distasteful. It is ugly with its aged rust on the stove, and stains on the walls. And there is never any light—the windows are boarded.

"How could you lose your job, Greg? Do you expect us to live in the streets?" My mother is yelling at my father.

I can see her clenching her fists, her anger emitting through her body movements. My father stands in front of her, an ashamed, yet furious expression on his face.

"Gina, I can't help it, I was beat out by some rich guy!" He complains.

"More excuses?" My mother seems as if she is finished with listening. "I can't do this anymore, Greg. Really."

"What about you, Gina?" He glares at her, moving dangerously closer to her. "You don't do anything around here; you just bicker at me all the time."

"I keep them damn homeless men out of our trailer, and I keep our family from getting shot, that's what I do. I keep Gabriella safe."

"Gabriella's not safe!" My father's voice rises. "You call this safe? We were better off in Puerto Rico!"

"Don't even start. Nothing has happened recently. Everything has been smooth, and then you go out and get fired. Now we're in a hole, again!"

"We hear gunshots at night. Every time we turn on that crappy television, we hear about some gang shooting some innocent kid in our neighborhood. We have our windows boarded! How do you consider this safe? Huh?" He seems to be yelling in her face now.

She seems on the verge of tears—a look of affliction present in her eyes.

"What do you want me to do, Greg? Every time I get a job, they end up firing me; they say that I have no experience. They look down on me because I didn't get an education."

She moves her face away from him. "They judge us both. Every single person in this town—they're all rich, driving their BMW's."

"It's not fair." My father's voice seems to soften, as tears begin rolling down my mother's pallid face.

I hate seeing her like this, and I can tell that he feels the same way.

He pulls her into a comforting embrace. "We will make it through this, Gina. We'll figure something out, and we'll keep this trailer, somehow. Screw the snobs; we have each other, and that's all we need. We'll keep each other safe."

It seems so sappy, like a love story, gone wrong, but it makes me want to cry. I watch my two parents, their hearts breaking right in front of me. They are hurt by people's opinions. Their parents hardly could afford their education, and they ended up dropping out at a young age. They don't deserve to suffer—they were born without luck. My Aunt from Florida sent them a check that had money, money to keep me in school. She doesn't want the same thing happening to me.

* * *

Time at school always goes by slowly, and the fact that it is only Wednesday doesn't help. I dislike Wednesday's. There seems no point in them. And the skies are gloomy and dark, matching my mood.

My melancholy mood is mostly caused by last night's events. I tossed and turned, not being able to catch an eye of sleep. I kept thinking about my life—my parents, my home life. I began to think about how selfish and heedless people were around here, how they judged us simply because of our lack of wealth. It seemed unfair. It was pure discrimination.

I drop my books off at my locker, dreading lunch. To be truthful, sometimes the loneliness gets to me. It hurts—not having a best friend to walk with you, to gossip with you, to give you advice. I feel as if I'm missing out on the most important parts of my life, literally.

"Hey." I can point out his beautiful, melodic voice better than anyone else's.

I turn to face him, "Hi Troy."

"You're alive!" He jokes, smiling at me, faking relief.

I roll my eyes at him, trying to hold the hurt inside. He has no idea that the place I am really from is ten times worse.

"Sit with us today." His tone seems persistent, yet modest, as if he isn't trying to be demanding.

I give him a slight bizarre glance. "Excuse me?"

He sighs, propping his hand against the cafeteria's doors, as I stare at him in aghast, my books glued to my hands.

"I talked with Chad and Zeke, they're cool." He assures me, giving me sincere ocean eyes.

I cannot. "Troy-"

"You can't just sit alone all the time!" He cuts me off, tenaciously, his voice rising.

He must figure I'm ridiculous, wanting to sit alone all the time. He doesn't know the full story; he doesn't comprehend the truth beyond Sharpay's treacherous smile. He'll never see the real pain loitering behind my eyes. He cannot read something that is hidden so horribly well. I must be a professional at faking happiness—I must be the master at holding back tears. Yet, there are a few things that still break my heart. Take for example: my family's lifestyle. It isn't our fault.

"I understand you're trying to help, but Troy, I'm perfectly okay with sitting alone."

He furrows his eyebrows, "Gabriella . . . they won't mess with you, okay?"

"Please, stop!" I broke. "We don't associate."

"Give them a chance." He pleads, giving me solemn eyes. "They're decent people."

To you they might be. I think, pushing a strand of dark hair behind my ear. "So was Hitler, Troy! And you seen the way he turned into a murderer."

"They are not Nazis', Gabriella." Troy pressures, still looking calm.

Students pass us to go into the cafeteria, eying us suspiciously, lifting one of their eyebrows, gossiping heavily.

Troy folds his arms, sighing in capitulation. "What did they do to you?"

"It is nothing of importance." I grumble, turning away from his hard stare.

As I begin walking away, he grabs me by the arm, aggressively, pulling me towards him. "They didn't do anything." He states, brashly.

"They enjoy putting on a show for people like you." I whisper to him, meeting his eyes with a look of terror.

I hear him breathing arduously as he shifts his eyes away from me, loosening the grip he has on my arm. I watch his ocean-colored eyes, as his lips curve into a frown.

"Like me? What's that supposed to mean?" He doesn't dare look at me, an ireful tone to his beautiful voice.

I don't want to explain it—I figure he finds it obvious. What does he see when he looks in the mirror everyday?

"Troy." I breathe, catching his eyes again. I feel my heart skip a beat as our eyes meet in perfect unison. "What do you see when you look into the mirror everyday?"

He seems baffled at first, his eyes looking down, as if he has to think about it.

He looks back up, "A normal guy. What do you see?"

I'm surprised by his question, but I ignore it.

"It doesn't matter. Everyone else looks at you like you're the new local celebrity."

He glances at me, as if he is about to break into laughter, shaking his head as if it cannot be possible, his eyes drifting away in disbelief. "You over analyze."

"You haven't been at East High for three years." I mumble, sourly. "Why do you think that they are so attracted to you?" I ask, folding my arms, curiously.

He gives me a goofy grin, "Because, didn't you hear the latest, I'm a cool guy, Gabriella."

I roll my eyes, "Same thing. They don't care about whom you are or what you're all about, they just like the fact that you're cool."

"No, the reason I'm cool is because of who I am, and what I'm all about." He comments. "I want you to give them a chance."

I look away, annoyed by his persistence. "I have; we don't mix."

"You will." He assures me, putting an arm behind my back, pushing me into the cafeteria, slowly.

"Troy."

"We're all in this together." He mutters into my ear, while catching a few looks from the girls around us.

"We? As in, you, yourself, and. . . you?" I ask, becoming flustered by our closeness towards Sharpay's lunch table.

"Easy there, wildcat." He chuckles, pushing me towards the lunch table.

We stand in front of their lunch table, and I can see the agitation in all of their faces.

It takes Sharpay awhile to notice me, before she thoroughly glares at me—from head to toe. She gives Troy a look of disapproval. Troy is too oblivious—smiling as if he just accomplished something great, as he keeps his arm around my back, giving me more butterflies then I had before.

Chad and Zeke notice me and groan loudly, then look back down to their trays, showing disfavor.

Miley and Lauren seem equally annoyed, rolling their eyes, and then giving Troy a fake smile. It irritates me easily, when Troy corresponds to their gestures.

And Jason just gives me an open mouth look of aghast.

"Guys, it's cool if Gabriella sits with us today, isn't it?" Troy asks, still looking upbeat as ever.

I hear the girls snort together, while Sharpay gives Troy a false smile.

She looks to me, arrogance eager in her eyes. "Oh Troy, I'm afraid we have no room for a fellow acquaintance." She bats her eyelashes at him playfully.

"Oh, we'll just pull up chairs!" Troy seems far too enthusiastic about this.

The girls exchange frowns.

"Aw, that's so sweet of you, trying to get Gabriella some people to sit with!" Lauren shrieks, melodramatically.

Troy's smile doesn't falter, though my stomach churns—why does he have to be the good, kindhearted guy here? He should have just abandoned me.

"Um, eh, well, some of the guys from the basketball team were gonna pull those chairs up, weren't they, guys?" Jason adds in, glancing to Chad and Zeke with hopeful expressions.

I can tell that they don't want me near them. But I can't run away again—Troy will just chase me down and insist that I come back to them. Troy seems unaware of their distaste for me. That bothers me.

Chad and Zeke's eyes bolt up, shrugging.

"Uh . . . yeah." Chad responds, scratching his head. "I offered it."

Troy still seems optimistic. Does he ever give up? I watch him with shocked eyes.

"Oh, well that's all right, I'm sure we could find some others."

"She can't sit here, Troy!" Miley's voice bellows, angrily.

She's glaring at me with vexation in her hazel eyes, showing her malevolence towards me. I notice Sharpay shifting uncomfortably by Miley's outburst. Lauren mutters curse words to Miley, quietly.

I look down, only immune to the familiarity of being left out.

Troy's smile finally diminishes, his eyes blinking in realization. "What . . . why?"

"Err—you know no room?" Sharpay attacks his question quickly, in hope of not making him realize the truth.

"Yeah, so you've said, but that's not good enough." Troy looks a bit annoyed, which shocks me. "What's wrong with Gabriella?" His eyes are fixated on them with aggravation, not noticing the sadness in my eyes.

"Nothing, we have no problems with Gabriella." Chad mutters, sarcastically.

"She's a loser." Jason looks remorseful for saying this, for others glare at him when he says it. He drops his head, shamefully.

Troy's facial expression doesn't change, as his eyes move over to linger on me. I'm looking down, ashamed of my own reputation—my own life, my own person. How do they always cause this insecurity? I'm fine until they come and break me all together. I close my eyes, unable to take in his gorgeous, prostrating gaze. I wonder if he can see the tears held beneath my eyes. He must be contemplating over whether he should ditch me or not.

I open my eyes, noticing that he's looking back at them again. I see a look of disgruntlement in his eyes, as if he's upset, as if he's disappointed in them. It surprises me.

"Fine. I guess I misjudged you guys." He looks down for a second, inhaling heavily, then turns to me. "Come on, Gabriella." His voice is soft and tranquilizing.

I glance at him, befuddled. "What?" My eyes meet his, confused.

"I'll come sit by you."

I furrow my eyebrows, "But they're your friends!"

"Some of them, but I don't like when anyone is treated badly—it's not fair." He seems serious about this.

"Troy, you're going to ditch us, for that trailer trash?" Miley's comment burns me. Trailer trash.

Troy looks even more angry, as he pushes me towards my old table again, not saying anything in response. He takes a seat, as do I. I stare at him, with confusion, as he glares at the table, with unreadable, angry eyes.

"Troy, they are correct, don't waste your time, seriously." I beg, not wanting to hurt his reputation—to send his own pride downhill.

"Dang it, Gabriella." His eyes look up, emotively, two exquisite oceans glancing back at me. "Trailer trash? What happened? Why are they so... rude? I must have been stupid, thinking they were decent people. They just treated you horribly."

"Why does it matter? It's never mattered in the past!" I exclaim, my eyes broken and filled with affliction.

"The past? I don't get it. It matters; you're not what they say you are. You're just a girl—woman, you're just like everyone else here."

"Am not." I fight back, looking away from him. "I lack everything they have."

"Like discrimination? Yeah." He mumbles, now looking back down.

"Why . . . are you angry?" I ask, absorbing his resentful eyes.

"I just can't believe it. I thought they were better then that."

"You're making yourself suffer because of my ridiculous reputation. Please, leave, Troy." I plead.

"Why, Gabriella? So you can be alone? Can you explain to me how that's putting you to sleep at night? You always look so sad." He observes. "I don't want you to be sad." For some reason, when he says this, I want to cry.

So he does notice the sadness in my eyes. He does see the tears behind them.

I run a frustrated hand through my hair. "You don't belong near me."

"You're the most insecure woman I've ever met." He mumbles, displeased.

I look down, holding back tears. "Troy . . . you don't know me."

"You're afraid to let me know you."

"I'm not worthy of a person you should know."

So much he doesn't know, so much he will judge me on.

He reaches for my hand, grabbing it, consolingly. "Gabriella, stop thinking like that. I would be over there if I thought I was better then you, that's ridiculous."

"Troy!" I cry, beginning to sob.

I just can't hold much more in.

"I live in a trailer park. I have a mother and father who fight for my life at night; they board the windows up, Troy! We live in the worst part of town! We can't even sleep at night without hearing gunshots. My aunt had to give us money for me to get an education. We have nothing—nothing at all. We are nothing, just insolent nobodies." I release, hiding my face with my hands.

I can't let him see my tears, nor can I let the rest of the cafeteria notice that I'm bawling my eyes out, for no reason that seems of importance.

"Gabriella." His voice sounds so malignant, yet so soothing, as he squeezes my hand tightly.

"You're going to be okay. There are some things in this world that you can't help, but its worse when people judge you for something you can't help. It's horrible. I'm not going to judge you—I never will. I'm not like them."

"I'll never understand why." I whisper, through muffled sobs.

"Look at me," I lift my head up, curtly, finding myself in those comforting eyes again. "You're beautiful just as you are, stop thinking I'm gonna turn against you. I have no reason to."

I look back down, wiping the tears on my cheeks. "Why aren't there more people like you in this world?"

"There are—I promise." He mumbles, letting go of my hand, the warmth of his touch suddenly fading away. "We better get to class." He observes the cafeteria, which was entirely empty now.

I look around, following his eyes. Time always flies by when I am with him, it seems extraordinary. I get up, and he comes towards me, as if worried I may fall or something.

"I must look horrifying." I mumble, following him.

"Like a monster." He chuckles, turning to face me, but then puts on a smile, "You look fine." He winks at me, playfully.


	6. Chapter Six: Her Fractured Heart

I glance at the calendar: October 10th.

It is the Friday that I have silently been dreading.

The rest of the week seemed more like a blur. Troy was being overly friendly, meeting me after every single class, and always sitting by me at lunch. I know he is still friends with Sharpay's group, for I noticed him talking to Chad the other day. But I can't be angry—he and Chad were friends originally, and it'd be preposterous if he abandons Chad now. Plus, they have basketball practice together.

The skies are a peaceful turquoise color, which seems bizarre in a desert. It doesn't matter much; it only gives me a more optimistic attitude. I don't really have a reason to be happy, I mean, the majority of people at this school dislike me. I guess Troy's warm, sensitivity towards me affects me for the best. Maybe I am better with him in my life, maybe he makes me chipper. Or maybe I am just in over my head. I think both options work well enough.

As usual, he waits for me, at my locker, looking more divine than ever. Even his hair shimmers, gracefully, in its relentless light color. He wears a pair of plaid shorts, blue and orange, and a sky-blue top. He looks beautiful. And the eccentric part of it, well, he is standing at my locker. Luck has been on my side, recently, I figure.

I greet him with an ethereal smile—still not believing my own fortune.

"Good morning, Troy." I probably sound more upbeat than usual to him.

"Good mood, today?" He asks, a smile playing on his magical lips, as I begin to dial my locker combination.

"Yes, and I don't know why." I answer, giggling at my own insanity.

He makes me feel better; he makes me feel special, as if I am somebody other then just the Gabriella Montez that most people can not stand.

"Crazy! You're coming to the game tonight, riiiight?" He beseeches, hope sparkling in those dazzling eyes.

"All alone in the corner." I respond, trying to sound confident about it.

"Aw, Gabriella." He mumbles, as I turn to face him, my books in my hands. He is standing with his hand propped against the top of my locker, leaning. "I'm sure you can sit with Taylor."

I only snort in response, almost slamming the locker door on him. He quickly removes his hand, looking a bit petrified.

"If not, it will be okay." I assure him and myself.

Yet, I can't even fake optimism well enough.

"You're worried they're going to be there." He states, gazing into my eyes.

I wonder if he can secretly read my mind, sometimes.

"How in the world do you know what I'm thinking, Troy?" I inquire, chuckling.

"You're not very hard to read, Gabriella." He admits, scratching the back of his head, ungainly. "They will be there—but you'll ignore that, and you'll watch me play." He gives me a cute smile. "How's that sound?"

"Easier said then done." I hate being so paranoid.

"Gabriella, no." He grasps his hand to my cheek, his touch tantalizing my senses. "You'll cheer for me, won't you?" His frown turns to a smile in seconds.

"Absolutely!" I smile at him, grateful. "I'll ignore them." I assure him, lowering his hand from my cheek—where it continues scorching.

"I'll see you at lunch." The bell rings, blaring into my ears, as I watch Troy stroll away, looking perfect with each and every step.

The reminder that he sits with me at lunch easily motivates me. I head for my classes, eager to rush to lunch to see him. I must be crazy, smiling like a lunatic for no reason. I make a promise to myself; I won't let Sharpay and her gang ruin this today. I will not. Troy invited me to this basketball game; he is excited, as am I. I am frustrated with them destroying everything. The week has gone by smoothly, and he doesn't seem very chummy with them. It seems only harmless going to his basketball game.

I am about to head for my first hour, a gleeful grin on my face for just this once, when they block my trail. They come up, as they used to, all in a line, together, sneering at me, smirking at me, looking malicious as can be. I can only glare at them as they stop me from getting passed them.

"Gabby; we meet again." Sharpay snarls, as if she hasn't seen me in years.

"I don't have time for this, please move, I must get to class." I attempt to move passed them, they only shove me backwards, making me stumble, falling to the ground.

They snicker at my weakness.

"Still a pansy, I see." Miley snickers.

I begin to think about Troy. What will he think of me, not being able to stand up for myself in front of these imbeciles? Will he think of me weak, or will he just feel sympathetic? I wonder. There is no way I can muster up enough strength to take them all at once—they are far too witty with comments, and far too potent for me to handle. Chad, Jason, and Zeke, as usual, stood obediently by their sides. I guess I feel outnumbered, as usual. And my peremptory seems to vanish within seconds, along with the idiotic smile that was on my face.

"Why can't we just settle things, Sharpay? Do you feel the need to drag this on? Aren't we getting a little old for these foolish games?" I inquire, backing away from them, as they approach me with dangerous eyes.

"Oh, honey." Sharpay flips her flaxen-colored hair, insolently. "We are only trying to teach you a lesson."

"Lesson?" I almost trip again, practically falling over my own feet. I'm backing away too quickly, and losing my balance.

"Stay away from Troy; he doesn't like you." Miley hisses, her venomous tone sending goose bumps down my back.

I swallow a lump that seemed to be shoved into my throat. "I-I, Troy and I are just friends—he's all yours for the taking." Is this a fight over Troy?

They are herding me, like a flock of provoked cattle. I feel dejected—having nowhere to run, for they are blocking me from any escape. I'm biting my bottom lip so hard, I'm shocked it isn't bleeding. I feel so inferior to them—so overpowered by their intense stares and their abundant followers. I have only me—I am alone in this battle.

"For some weird reason, Troy hasn't been talking to us much. I don't know what you witches do back at home, but you better get rid of that spell you put on him." Lauren says; the group perilously close to me.

I cringe at the term witches. First, we are the trailer trash, now I'm a witch? I can't handle this anymore. I want to curl up into a ball; I want them to leave me alone already. I wish that I can be potent—that I can gain some strength, some courage. If only I'm not outnumbered, if only I'm not a minority here.

"Troy thinks you're weird." Jason mumbles, inconsiderately.

"Jason." Sharpay snarls. "What Troy thinks of Gabriella is none of her business." She throws me a sickeningly sweet smirk.

"Surely she wouldn't want to know what her little boyfriend really thinks of her."

I feel my stomach become queasy, my eyes growing watery. My vision becomes dizzy, and I can hardly see anything but small figures, small blurs. I feel as if a part of my chest is being ripped out, as if all my securities are being demolished. My knees become weak, the rest of my body acting accordingly.

"That's right, bitch—he thinks you're trailer trash, too. He just feels bad for you." Miley snickers, nefariously.

They are just trying to bring you down, Gabriella. They aren't speaking the truth. I try to convince myself, imagining Troy's dazzling grin. He wouldn't have faked that, would he of? He wouldn't be pretending . . . he couldn't! He isn't like Eric, he couldn't be! I feel my insides going numb at just the thought, the thought that he might be faking this. Everything seems to hurt now - I feel constant agony everywhere.

"Aw, is poor little trailer trash going to cry?" Sharpay mocks, her usual smirk plastered on her face.

"You're lying! Y-you're all lying!" I wail at them, pointing a finger at them, angrily. Tears scorch my eyes, the worst affliction engulfing me. "You . . . must be lying." I whisper, not even to them, but more-so to myself.

I am persuading myself, no assuring myself that he isn't as they are saying. They are simply envious that he isn't hanging out with them anymore, that he isn't showing full-attention to them 24-7. They are just jealous.

"Even Chad knows, right Chad?" Sharpay glances to Chad - Troy's best friend and teammate.

Chad looks befuddled, not knowing how to respond. He has a blank look on his face, as his eyes gaze towards me. I stare back at him with hurt, sable eyes. Surely this must be a lie. It has to be.

"Y—yeah . . . that's right." Chad agrees, guiltily.

I only shut my eyes as he looks down to his feet, a remorseful look illuminating his face. I feel my knees giving way, as I fall to the ground, weakly. I have no friends. I have no one. Even Troy must be against me. It really isn't reality—I've been imagining this.

The tears escape, rolling down my face, furiously. They sting my face as they fall, burning each and every spot they hit. The tears are rapid, and nagging. I hear them laughing, snickering, mimicking me from the front. What ever cruel thing have I ever done to deserve this?

I can not stand this punishment anymore. I stock up my books, holding them to my chest, and dart off, the tears still strolling down my eyes. I run until I can't hear their voices anymore, anything to get away from their piercing insults. The most unimaginable pain has been afflicted on me. I am broken in two—I am cut open all over again.

I retort to the nearest restroom, gazing at my homely expression in the mirror. My eyes are a mess—pure ebony, mascara running down my ghastly face. I begin washing it off with paper towels. My lips are chapped, and quivered from the terror of harassment. My irises are a bright red that looks unhealthy. And even after rinsing my face, I find myself staring back at the same, lonely brown eyes as I did before I met Troy Bolton.

I head back to class, dropping in for first and second hour. I find myself drifting off easily, my mind often wandering to everything that had happened with Sharpay's group. It hurts, just the mere thought. And I find eyes on me, all the time. I am paranoid—paranoid of being disliked this much. I am so worried, so concerned about impressing them. All I really want is for them to accept me, for them to accept my family, my lifestyle, me. I thought Troy did, but my doubts are becoming prominent.

* * *

I stumble to my locker before lunch, running directly into a pair of ocean blue eyes, ironically. His facial expression seems indifferent, upbeat as always.

But when he notices me, his expression changes. He suddenly looks overwrought, as if I have a gigantic scar engraved on my upper lip. "Your eyes." He doesn't say anything more; he only stops there, as if waiting for a response.

"Contacts fell out."

"I thought you never wore them." Troy is quick on his feet.

"Troy, please!" I hiss, slamming the locker door shut, twirling around. "Does it even matter?"

"What happened?" He folds his arms, as if he knows this will take awhile.

"Don't worry about it." I mumble, glacially, as I begin to walk away from him.

He grabs for my arm, pulling me back, with his miraculously strong grip. "Don't run away from me, Gabriella."

"Why? It's what you will do eventually." I mutter, listlessly.

He rolls his ocean eyes, "What do I have to do to prove to you that I'm really here? I mean, what could have happened to you, what could have made you assume everybody's just going to run away from you eventually?"

I look down, ashamed of my pity. "... Last year," I begin, biting my bottom lip, forcefully, "this boy introduced himself to me. He wanted to date," I swallow, feeling the familiar emptiness in my chest, "so we did, and it was okay. But then..." I continue looking down, unable to meet his rigid eyes just yet, ". . .I found out he was just using me to get information, to get information about me, so he could go back and tell Sharpay, that way she could throw it in my face later."

I finally gain enough gallantry to look up. I find myself, lost in hypnotizing blue eyes. I can see realization flicker in his eyes, and the sympathy disguised with azure colors. His glance softened, instantly, and I feel him release my arm, now looking doleful.

"God. . ." He mumbles; a fractious tone evident in his voice. "What is wrong with them?"

"Sharpay's group told me . . . they told me that you thought I was weird . . . that you just felt sympathy for me. It's okay if you do, I am very weird, I keep to myself, I sit alone at lunch. . . what matters to me is that you've been here. I guess I'm secretly desperate for some sort of companionship. Gosh, I'm so helpless, Troy. Won't you just understand? I just want someone to understand." My eyes blink back tears to my spill of emotions.

Why am I saying these things? He surely thinks of me as an idiot now. I have just blurted out everything I'm feeling all at once. I'm desperate for him, desperate to feel someone close to me, for that intimacy, for the warmth of having something, even if it isn't love—it is something near to it. It is something to keep me from stirring in bed at night, something to keep me from giving up on life, something to tune out the people I do not want to hear. He is my shelter—my protection, my security blanket. Doesn't he realize how much he has affected me by just standing by me, just by being here? I begin to realize how vulnerable I really am to his presence. I would do anything for him to continue this, for him to not turn against me. I am scared of being alone again, I am afraid of the bitterness.

"Gabriella, I understand!" His eyes are sedative, touched. He sighs, "I don't think you're weird, you're mysterious—I wanna figure you all out, Gabriella." He seems serious about this. "I can't believe they'd say that." He seems frustrated to this.

"I believe you." I breathe. How can I believe them over him? He has honest eyes, a kind heart, they are cruel, self-absorbed.

"Chad is one of my best friends. . ." Troy admits, with aversion. "Now he's becoming just like them. . ."

"Wouldn't you rather have them all as your friends, then just me?" I ask, timidly.

"It disgusts me the way that they treat you. I can't stand arrogance—they show it when they tease you." Troy responds, absentmindedly. "Look," He begins, his eyes meeting mine, making my heart do flips, "I'm really here, okay? And I'm not leaving until you get sick of me."

I can only chuckle to that. He is so cute and has such a good heart. I must be the most fortunate girl in the world, meeting a guy like him.

"I don't . . . usually tell people the things that I tell you." I whisper, embarrassedly.

"Your secrets are safe with me, Gabriella." He assures me, giving me a comforting smile. "Let's get to lunch, all right?" He begins heading towards the cafeteria, I follow behind him loyally, watching his royal steps.

When we are walking towards the cafeteria, something catches my eye. I stop at midway, in the hallway, as someone awfully familiar is standing in front of me, speaking loudly to another student. I swallow - the lump is back again. Troy doesn't realize I stood behind until he turns around. He walks back to me, giving me a worried look.

"T-That guy. . ." I whisper, incredulously.

I remember him, vividly.

* * *

_"Hey sweet cheeks, whatcha' doin' out here, all alone?"_

_ I knew I was up to no good, the hidden moon only proved it._

_There were a group of them—all equally similar - Latin Americans, about 5'4", balky, heavy chests. Their skin seemed darker in the dusky night. I remember the way my heart began racing, my knees trembling in terror. They all wore similar tanks - tanks that must've been worn out far too much. They wore jeans, but scraped, holey jeans, jeans with dirt and mud engraved on them. They seemed poverty-stricken. There were three of them, and they were all probably about eighteen. They hovered around a certain shack; the lights in the shack were bright and prominent._

_There was one young man—he was smoking a cigarette, lazily lying in his old pickup truck. He was looking up to the stars, as if his mind had been elsewhere. He seemed unaware of the rest of the world, just in his own, peaceful, daydream world._

_The next young man was standing with his hands in his pockets, lethargically. He wore a nasty smirk on his face; a smirk that seemed dangerous—a putrid smirk that has haunted my dreams for the passed two years. I could see the faint shadow of the gun in his right hand. He was just dying to stir up trouble. I can still remember the way he approached me, the way he was only centimeters away. He snickered at me, treacherously. The other young man was also strolling towards me, limping, as if one of his legs did not work._

_I remember the way I closed my eyes and viciously cried, "Leave me alone!"_

_They only laughed at me. "You look quite young, darling." The second man observed, checking me out thoroughly. "You must go to East High, no?"_

_I didn't respond, only whimpered in terror. I remember how every single part of my body seemed to be trembling. I was frightened to death. I never thought I would die this kind of evil death. I assumed my life would have been longer, more prosperous. I was already predicting what they would do—rape me and kill me._

_"Ah, so beautiful." He stroked my cheek with his aloof, raucous hand._

_I shivered in response to his wretched touch. "Please . . . let me go." I begged._

_"Shut your mouth, lady." The third one snarled, barbarously. He glanced to the second man, chuckling. "You always pick the feisty ones, eh?"_

_"She sure is a beauty, ain't she, Dirk?" The other man continued stroking my cheek, freezing my skin, making my skin crawl._

_I only continued shaking._

_"Why don't you take a walk with me, babe?" He suggested, behind hideous strings of bedraggled hair._

_I tried to break out of his grasp—he was far too powerful. "I think I need to teach you a lesson, sweetie."_

* * *

I swallow, engulfing the most pain I have felt in days. I try to forget the memory, to avoid the thoughts of it. I can only feel my feet shaking, lightly. How can I ever forget something that affected me so drastically? I glance back at the young man, his eyes now facing me. I step back, affright.

Troy seems confused. "Gabriella?"

My vulnerability towards men, my fear of opening up to people, this man has caused me the most unbearable pain. I try to seclude the black and white images that are rehearsing in my mind. They only make me want to vomit, anyways.

"You look paranoid, again." He observes - that comforting smile on his face as usual.

"I think I'm just a panic-stricken person, Troy." I admit, trying to find humor in the situation.

He seems to buy this, for he laughs his genuine, idealistic laugh, and makes my heart race and my feet suddenly feel unmovable. I'm glad he cannot see right through me.

"I don't scare you, do I?" He inquires - a playful smile on his face as he situates himself as usual, at my lunch table. "I can be pretty scary."

I roll my eyes to his joke. "Trust me, Troy; you're the farthest thing from scary."

"So, today, I'm going to introduce you to the best lunch you could ever have here." Troy seems imperious and enthusiastic about this.

My eyes do not stray from his face, "A Peanut butter and jelly sandwich!" He seems excited about the mere phrase.

I can only laugh at him; he really is a child at heart.

I follow behind him, loyally, as he darts for the Peanut butter and jelly line. I roll my eyes, noticing the big banter that says "East High's PB&J sandwiches . . . don't miss out!" I always heard they had good PB&J sandwiches, but I never considered trying them. Troy seems far too ecstatic about this, a huge, effulgent grin on his lips. I want to share his excitement, but I still feel a chill of nervousness.

That man, he came back, after being expelled for all of last year. He frightens me. After the accident, I've always had this sense that someone is following me. I must be going insane, insane because I'm so scarred from the impact this man made on me. He hurt me, emotionally and physically. I suddenly became afraid of men in general. If they are all devilish and conniving like him, why bother? I am so tense around men. And I figure they all want to hurt me. I still can hardly believe Troy is standing in front of me. He is dazzling a young girl in front of him.

"Yeah, thanks! I'll try." He responds to her about winning the basketball game—his quirky smile evident on his face as usual.

I watch as the girl beams at him, and she watches him still as he turns away, the smile never leaving her face. I can't help but smile—the effect that Troy makes on women seems unearthly.

He twirls back around, facing me, that cute smile lingering on his face. "Come on, Gabriella, our sandwiches are going to be excellent."

He pushes me from my back, through the line of people. Most of them back away, while others just glare at us. I notice Sharpay grimacing at us from across the lunch room. Troy's hand is still around my back as we approach the sandwiches. My senses act accordingly—butterflies toying around in my stomach as usual, the euphoric feeling that I can't describe taking over me.

I grasp for the peanut butter and jelly sandwich that is wrapped up in plastic, but come to a rough stop as someone else grabs it before I do. I suddenly have a bad feeling, as if it's ill-fated, yet I don't know why. My eyes flicker upwards, and I find myself looking into that man's eyes. My heart stops for a second, and I suddenly feel puny and weak, my heart beginning to race with aghast.

"Gabriella; glad to see you again." His voice is mimicking as he brushes passed me—his usual putrid smell lingering with me.

I am truly the magnet for trouble, am I not?


	7. Chapter Seven: Unlike The Rest

It takes me awhile to take in what has just happened. That is him—the young man that had stolen away my pride. It all hits me at once. And I imagine the pain that is engulfing me must have diffused all over my face. Troy is far too busy getting us peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to notice my expression though. I have to stop being so scared—right? But he hasn't known half of my past.

I am far too complicated for anybody to deal with.

"Would you like me to butter your sandwich?" Troy inquires, modestly.

I can't help but chuckle at how wrong that can be taken, but nonetheless, I just nod and let him fix up my sandwich to his liking.

"So when did you realize that they were so good?" I ask.

"A few days ago. I just had to share my enthusiasm with somebody, you know?" Troy hands me the tray in which he put the sandwich on.

I'm not about to lie—it does look delicious.

"You don't have to cater for me, you know." I chuckle, as we walk back to my forlorn table.

"Oh, so now you're trying to be all big and strong?" He takes the seat next to me, stealing his sandwich off of the tray I am carrying. "I have a plan."

"A plan?" I become confused.

"If Sharpay's group messes with you again . . . you'll fight back." He acts as if this is the most ingenious idea he's ever came up with.

"Easier said then done." I murmur, looking down, grief-stricken.

"You're strong, you can do it." Troy's eyes drift up from the sandwich. "Just think about this sandwich, it'll make you happy."

I laugh at him. "You know, you kind of remind me of a child."

"You know, I'm about to steal that sandwich if you don't at least try it." He scolds - a playful smile on his lips.

I roll my eyes, taking a hold of the booming sandwich. It looks delicious, wrapped in peanut butter and a strawberry-flavored jelly, even the layer of butter looks superior. My mouth waters before I even taste it. Troy watches me with enticed eyes.

I'm about to consume it, but I end up bursting out into laughter, putting the sandwich down. I can't contain my amusement. Troy's expression was priceless. He furrows his eyebrows to my laughter.

"Troy." I breathe, gasping for air. "If you could please not watch me with wide eyes while I'm attempting to consume the sandwich, I might be able to suppress my laughter."

He looks embarrassed for a second. "Oh... right." It is cute how he looks down and goes back to digging into his own sandwich.

I take a bite of the sandwich. It truly does taste like heaven. "Mm mm. You're right, Troy, it is pretty delightful."

"Delightful? It's kinda like heaven at your fingertips." He chaffs.

"Well that's a bit over dramatic, but, I'm sure it can pass as good."

"Aw, that's no fun, Gabriella. Don't be so cynical."

I chuckle. "I wish it was possible for me to be as optimistic as you."

"You can be - you just gotta put a smile on that beautiful face." He winks at me - making my stomach weak and my insides tremble - I can't help but smile at him.

"See, there it is; the smile of the century."

"Oh, see, now you really are being dramatic." I giggle.

"I guess it's kinda good that I took drama arts then, huh?" He jokes, biting into the sandwich again, a look of pleasure spreading across his face afterwards. He points to it, "Heaven at your fingertips, I'm telling you."

I chuckle at him, as I gaze around the cafeteria. It is extremely plain, besides the white and maroon colors. On the walls, there are bold letters stating "East High Wildcats". I also notice a few posters on the wall—one having a huge imprint of Troy's face. It shows him, wearing his jersey, "14", smiling that adulterating grin. Next to him is a poster of Chad—another one of the star basketball players.

"So, you're a star player now?" I inquire, my eyes fixating with amazement on the poster.

Troy is far too busy eating that he hardly even notices the poster. He turns around to face it, and looks back to me, a valiant, hypnotizing smile on his face. He rubs the back of his head, looking speechless.

"Uh, I guess so." He admits, sheepishly, chuckling.

"Well, you never mentioned that. Guess I'm gonna have to go to the game now." I joke, faking a downhearted frown.

He still has the sandwich in his hands. "Oh, you would go anyways. I would make you." He gives me an audacious grin.

"No, but seriously, Troy, look at that thing, you're like a celebrity in this school." I can't help but notice the despondency in my own tone—I should be happy for him.

"Not really; I'm just a normal guy." Troy brushes it off, casually, taking another bite of the sandwich.

I detest how he acts as if he isn't a big deal, but everybody else disagrees. Doesn't he realize that he is hurting his own reputation, sitting here, next to me? I will be forever grateful to him for this, but I almost feel commiseration for him. And the weird part is how normal he acts—he doesn't even care!

As my eyes continue moving, they run into him. I feel my entire body stiffen. He is just walking by, but I can see his tawny-colored eyes glancing my way. They are so heinous. They frighten me. I'm waiting for some kind of burgundy color to appear in his irises. He seems to be a demon—something sent from hell, for sure. And I know his intentions. I know what he wants most, what he is here for.

Yep, you guessed it: to mess with Gabriella Montez.

He is watching me, when I notice his body movement leaning towards my lunch table. Surely, he is going to come over. And I can hear his boots tapping on the cafeteria's tile from inches away. I am petrified, shaking and everything. I put my head down when he approaches us, and Troy is just in the midst of finishing his sandwich—mouth full and everything. Had this man been a normal friend of ours, I'd be laughing at Troy's full cheeks, but this isn't the case. In this case, this man is my worst enemy—someone I'd want to avoid forever.

"Hello." So vicious and husky, yet Troy only looks up with a friendly smile on his face.

"Hey, what's up man?" Troy asks with a mouth full.

"Hey man, nothing much." Is the man's lame response.

It then dawns on me; Troy and this man are friends. I about vomit right then and there. This can't be true. No. Troy and he cannot be friends. I think I'm seriously about to hurl. I look elsewhere, averting my eyes from his cold, paralyzing eyes. I have to look away—I can't afford to absorb the fragments of memories.

"Hey Gabriella." The man says, liberally, as if he is just trying to be soft, to reassure Troy that we are friends or something idiotic like that.

"Gabriella, what are you doing?" Troy muffles through his food—his eyes glance down at me, his eyebrows furrowing.

"I'm-sorry. I felt nauseated for a second there. Hello Earl." I finally gasp out, feeling vile from the mention of his name.

"How are you?" Earl inquires, naturally.

I have to force words out of my mouth. "Good... I-I see you're not expelled any more."

"Yep, great, huh? I feel so free." He chuckles to his own comment. "Didn't know you and my homie, Troy were pals."

Troy is busy eating, still. "Yes . . . well, now you know." I sound so phlegmatic; it is so understandable how Troy thought of me being rude.

I just can't not be. The enmity I feel towards this man—it seems overpowering. It seems to go beyond the limit. It is almost as bad as I wish he isn't alive any further. I am that futile about him.

"Eh, still timid as you were before, I see." He is watching us, carefully. "Well, I'll let you two be. You going to see Troy play big tonight?" He asks, the question directed to me, obviously.

I feel suddenly numb, and afraid. I don't speak, my lips quivering with terror. I cannot tell him. I cannot. He isn't allowed to know. Never again, will he able to follow me anymore. Not after everything. No.

"Yeah, she is. She'll be cheering for me." Stupid Troy and his honesty, and his need to talk and chew at the same time.

I want to take it back. I want to clear things up. "No, I doubt it; my mother wants me home tonight." What a fib.

Troy looks hurt. "What? But Gabriella, you said you could. . ." I want to make him understand, but I just can't. It seems too complex to explain.

"Ah, well I'll let you two be. I'll be there for you, dawg. You hit home, all right? Later." The repellent man, Earl, makes his way away from us, and the security I had lost comes back, instantly.

"What was that?" Troy has finally swallowed, but his voice is filled with frustration, his eyes throwing daggers at me.

"Troy, I do not like him." I admit, biting my bottom lip, looking away from the intensity of his stare.

"You're being ridiculous. Earl's cool. He's in my History class." Troy looks so serious when he says this. "Is there anyone you do like?"

I look down, gloomily. I liked him. But he isn't supposed to know that.

"He's not like Sharpay, okay? Trust me." He assures me, his eyes softening.

"Okay." I just have to make him satisfied—I just have to make him believe I'm not aberrant. He already knows so much about me, and he must find me weird . . . but I just can't bear for him to think even worse of me.

"You're so tense." Troy observes. "You're like a kitten . . . you're so timid." He sounds diverted by this. "If I give you cat nip, will you get high off of it?"

I roll my eyes. "Please, stop, Troy." My voice is bitter and angry, and I don't mean it to be. "This isn't funny."

"All right, all right. I knew you'd get sick of me eventually."

"It's not that, I'm just tired of being the weak, timid kitten." I mumble, listlessly.

"You wanna be a full-grown, wildcat, huh?" I know he is trying to be funny, again, and it isn't as if he isn't cheering me up, because just the sound of his voice cheers me up. I am just worried about tonight.

"I'm sorry; I'm sorry . . . don't get mad at me, Gabriella. I'm just trying to cheer you up, you seem so upset." He continues, giving me sorrowful eyes.

"Yes, but it's not you, so don't think you have something to do with this. You don't. You are amazing Troy, I just have my own problems." I mutter, annoyed with myself.

Troy sighs. "I'm kind of here for the talking, but I mean, I'm not the type of person to force someone to talk about something they don't wanna talk about. I understand that sometimes things are too difficult to talk about. But if you need to talk, it's all right." He scratches the back of his head, looking at me. "Or if you know, you eventually . . . do . . . that works too." He goes on, looking a bit dejected for me not saying anything. Why is he so cute? I seriously want to pinch his cheeks.

I can't help but smile. "Troy, if there's anyone who's going to hear me talk, it's going to be you, so don't think I'm not going to spill my heart to you eventually. I'm just not ready now." I am practically promising him that I'd tell him everything someday—how can I promise something so intense?

How ignorant am I?

But I just can not help it. I am practically falling in love with him. He listens to me, understands me, and he is like a little kid. And he hasn't left yet. Why is that so atypical? Why do I expect him to leave? He is far too nice to leave. He has a heart. He isn't like the rest of them. Or Earl for that matter.


	8. Chapter Eight: Breaking Free

I arrive at the game around seven o'clock. They are just announcing the names and players. I feel it is rude of me, coming in so late. But I am never good with timing. My parents detested against giving me a ride, leaving me at my only option—I had to walk. Now, don't be thinking that the school is extremely far from my trailer, because it is not. It's probably about a twenty minute walk. I am a very composed person, and don't rush anything, so I'm okay with walking for a spell.

As I arrive, I find myself brushing passed students I have never seen before. It seems erratic; the bleachers are filled with red and white colors, most of them screaming so loud that it hurts my eardrums. I can easily spot out the group of cheerleaders, yelping and shrieking ‛Go Wildcats!' I feel misplaced compared to the gigantic groups of people—sporting not a soul of school colors. I'm wearing a pair of jeans that seem a bit too laid back, and a blanched t-shirt where the sleeves meet the end of my shoulders. It isn't that I'm trying to impress them. Maybe I want to catch someone else's eye—maybe a certain blue-eyed boy who is playing on the basketball team. My bangs are clipped up in a barrette, resting on the top of my head, destroying my hair part. I feel like I look passable.

I walk through the gale of people, trying to make my way to a lonely corner, as _usual_. I haven't seen _them_ yet, which seems relieving. I continue heading towards that scintillating corner, knowing that's where I'm supposed to be. I find a nice, accessible area, to where I can see the basketball game just fine. I put my purse down and fold my arms, taking the seat.

"Gabriella!" Someone calls my name, rambunctiously, as if they are possibly desperate to speak with me.

The voice seems vaguely familiar, yet I can't seem to figure out whom it belongs to.

I turn my head slightly, and I notice a familiar, friendly face. It is Taylor, the girl who had talked to me during basketball practice that one day. She seems nice enough, and she doesn't belong to Sharpay's abhorrent group of followers.

I glance back at her, giving her an obliging smile.

She looks a bit frustrated, waving her hand frantically, as if persuading me to come over there. I do not move. She must be joking. I am _destined_ to sit here, to sit alone. Surely she would not want to have me accompany her clique. One of them most-likely despises me; one of them most-likely knows Sharpay.

She then begins making her way down towards me. She takes the seat next to me, "Gabriella, come sit by me." She yells loudly over the people around us.

"I don't know if that's a good idea. You seem nice, but your friends probably dislike me." I answer, also bellowing.

She grimaces, "You're joking. Bolton told me you would be stubborn. You don't have to be—we don't bite."

Troy had spoke with her about this?

"I understand you must feel obligated if Troy set you up for this." I respond, slightly flustered by her mention of him.

"I don't mind." She explains. "You seem cool. I know Chad's kind of a jerk to you. I'm sorry about him—he lets the popularity get to his head sometimes."

With her comforting smile, and her reassuring words, I cannot help but feel as if she is an exceptional person. How can I just deny someone who seems so harmless? If she is planning something, she is extremely good at hiding it.

"Coming?" She gives me a revitalizing smile. "The girls will love you, trust me."

It seems bizarre. Things are alternating so quickly. Troy truly is making things easier; he is trying to make things simpler. Though, I still feel like I am being treated as the timid kitten. Why can't I break free?

The girls seem as innocuous as Taylor does. I can't help but notice a small, petite girl, who I have in one of my classes. I have been her partner once. I remember her name being Kelsi, yet I don't know any more about her. She has an oval-shaped face, hazel eyes, a small, yet bland pair of lips, shiny, curly brunette hair. She wears glasses, hiding away her pretty eyes. She dresses in a more reserved way—an overwhelming green sweater, and a matching miniskirt. She seems to lack school spirit, making me feel a tad better.

Another girl sits on the right of Kelsi, a rather plump girl, but her face overpowers her weight faults. She has bright chestnut-colored eyes, and spiral, tawny curls. She wears a t-shirt that proclaims "Go Wildcats!", and a pair of jeans. She seems easygoing, a polite smile located on her lips, emphasizing her rigid cheekbones.

"Gabriella, this is Kelsi and Martha." Taylor introduces us, taking a seat between both of them.

They both give me a complaisant smile. Taylor makes room between her and Martha, allowing me to take a seat. I give her a genuine, grateful smile.

"Nice to meet you two." I nod at the two girls, trying to force my best friendly smile.

"Gabriella Montez?" Martha inquires, giving me genial eyes. "I've heard _so_ much about you. I have a few questions."

I suddenly lose my confidence. Questions? I look to Taylor, a nervous, look of aghast spreading across my face. Truly, I am frightened of _those_ questions—the questions to the rumors that Sharpay filled students' heads with.

"Not bad." She must notice the look of fulsome on my face. "They're about you and Troy Bolton."

I almost want to let out a breath of relief. I seriously feel resurrected, saved. I am secretively terrified of hearing any more about the previous abuse I've had to deal with for the passed few years. I want to forget it, the best I can. I want to conquer my fears of it. I also want to stand up, defend myself. But that is like wishing for something that can never come true.

"Shoot."

Her eyes soften. "Are you two dating?"

"No." Unfortunately not. "Who told you that?"

"I've just heard you two hang out _a lot_. Is it true he ditched Sharpay for you?"

"In a way, though I don't consider it that. He was just upset that she was being rude towards me. He doesn't like people that treat other people badly." At least I hope that is the truth, that's what he has told me.

"He doesn't like Sharpay?" Martha's eyes adorn complete interest.

"I . . . don't know, actually." I actually don't know. I can only remember him being disgusted and repulsed by the way they treated me. Not once did he mention his distaste for Sharpay.

I can easily tell that Martha was a gossiper. She enjoys knowing everything about everyone. She seems far too enticed by this conversation. It is vivid. But at the same time, she seems a bit too nosy also—the type of nosy that may drive you insane.

"Is he really a sweet talker, or is that just a myth?" Martha seems a bit diverted, suddenly looking more engulfed in this topic then she had looked earlier.

I can't help but giggle lightly. I can't help but remember all the things that Troy has said that just made my heart flutter. He is very smooth at talking, and he knows exactly what to say, and when to say it. I can't say that he is the most acute person, for he misses out on a lot of bright details most people wouldn't miss. Though, he is just _suave_. He is the guy that can talk his way out of everything, the guy that can make any girl fall in love with him, the guy that can raise that A- to a A+ in a mere second by just saying please and giving the teacher a dazzling smile.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes?" She asks, grinning insightfully.

"Girl, you look like you just went to heaven and back." Taylor notes, examining the astral look in my eyes, chuckling in a good-humored way. "And Martha, I could've answered that one. Everyone knows that Troy is slicker then ice, if you know what I mean."

"I heard his eyes are as blue as the ocean, and his smile is as blinding as the California's sun. True or false?" Martha continues - an anxious grin on her face.

"Oh, come on, Marth, leave Gabriella alone. You sound like a freakin' interviewer. Gabriella, don't mind her, she's just a complete drama queen. She enjoys feeding off of everybody else's life." Taylor swats her hand, rolling her eyes.

"Hey! I was just wondering. I am _not_ a drama queen, just curious, that's all." Martha argues, glaring at Taylor.

I chuckle at their quarrel. "It's really okay, Taylor. I don't mind, as long as it's nothing bad, most of those rumors are just false."

"Chad's playing, Taylor." Kelsi's mousy voice speaks out, her eyes gazing at the center of the gymnasium, where the basketball players are coming out. Chad seems to be first in line.

"Number 8. . . Danforth, Chad." The speaker blares, practically deafening each of our ears.

"Ah, that's my boy!" Taylor exclaims, looking eminent and mesmerized by her crushes' appearance. I give her a small smile. I really hope that one day they will get together. They would look cute together.

They keep calling off names—names that seem foreign to me. I hadn't recognized hardly any of them. Jason, Sharpay's group member, is one I recognized, but I didn't appreciate his appearance. I can hear Sharpay's group on the top of the bleachers, to the far west-side, cheering like animals. Fortunately, they are on the opposite side of where I am sitting. They don't even see me.

"Number 14. . . Bolton, Troy." Maybe it is how he strolls out, how he jogs out, so efficiently or how the crowd goes ultimately wild as he steps out. Maybe it is the way that he smiles broadly as he passes us, the way that his hair flies as he runs, and the way his eyes light up at the sound of the audiences' screams. _Something_ about the way he runs out there, makes my heart just go insane. I can't control anything, I am taking a hold of again, completely perplexed by his beauty.

His eyes raise towards the stands as he continues jogging passed. His eyes are searching, those beautiful oceans looking so obstinate, as if he is determined to find someone. I feel my heart stop as his eyes somehow find mine. I look down for a second, and then my eyes look back up, his flickering on me for what seems like eternity. His usual indifferent expression creases into a celestial smile. Then the moment fades, and his eyes continue to extend forward, meeting up with his team members, loyally. And my heart somehow manages to go back to its normal state, yet still beating one hundred miles per hour, my entire body floating in a stagnant cloud.

"_Yow_. Speak of love?" Taylor is elbowing me, neurotically.

I roll my eyes, emitting a smile that couldn't be hidden. "He's one of a kind. . ."

"Excuse me, ladies? Mind if I sit with you for awhile? I'm waiting for a friend." A beastly, afflicting voice interrupts my happy thoughts, and I find myself glancing into two, repugnant dusky eyes. Why does every moment seem to end so quickly?

"Earl!" Martha jumps up, instantly, and I watch the elation appear on her face, as she beams at him, wrapping her arms around him. "This is Gabriella." She introduces, as they break out of the embrace.

He looks to me, narrowing his eyes down at me. I can't help but want to glower at him, feeling the hostility and the bleeding all at once. It hurts, just looking at him. He must be following me again, knowing I'd be here.

And he made companions with them.

I feel suddenly bedridden, as he takes a seat beside me.

"So, you and Troy, hmm?" His voice is taunting, as if he's making fun of me. Yet it's so low and quiet, none of the girls beside me could hear him. "You know that's impossible, right?"

I remain quiet, refusing to say anything back. My hands are trembling as I hold them to my lap, forcefully. I keep my eyes on the game, watching Troy play, aggressively. I can't be the timid kitten anymore.

"You're not good enough, Gabriella." He whispers, his hand moving towards my pant leg. He rubs it, back and forth, and I shut my eyes for a second, painfully. "You're just a piece of _shit—_he doesn't want you. You belong to _me_."

I can't handle this any further, this abuse, this rage. I stand up from my seat, angrily. I glare at him, viciously. "I don't _belong_ to anyone!" My voice is so steady and potent; I thought I was going to hit him in the face. "And I have much better things to do with my time then sit here and speak with an imbecile like _you_." My tone is like venom, escaping my lips, some unknown hatred emitting from them.

I grab my purse, not looking back, darting away from the bleachers, as fast as I could.


	9. Chapter Nine: Nothing Else Matters

I'm running. Possibly as fast as lightning, if possible, faster. Or the speed of light. That's pretty fast also.

I find this area underneath the bleachers. Anything to get away from _him_. I feel better, yelling at him like that. It seems as if he deserved it. After all of these years, I'm sick and tired of being treated like dirt. Troy has proved to me that I'm not dirt, so why should I be treated in such a cruel way?

By the time I stop running, the game is ending. Only a few more minutes are left on the clock. And it doesn't surprise me that the main players, Bolton and Danforth are the only one's scoring points. It seems as if the posters in the school do mean something - as if maybe the two really _are _star players. They really _are_ talented; they can really play basketball better than the rest of their teammates.

The sky looks nebulous, as if a storm is coming. I glance at it through the large window near the court. This is uncommon in Albuquerque. We rarely have storms or even rain. Everything's far too dry. Yet, the sky is purple, an imperial violet color, a color you'll see only in the movies or in your nightmares. It seems unreal.

"Number fourteen has the ball. . ." The man says over the speaker while ignoring hundreds of cheers from the bleachers.

I look over towards the court again, my eyes easily finding Troy, who runs swiftly with the ball in his grip, dribbling like a madman. He's aiming for the hoop, stopping in place.

"He's aiming. . ." The announcer continues - looking more interested than the crowd itself.

In perfect unison, the ball falls through the net, sending the Wildcats towards Troy, picking him up off of his feet. Carrying him and hollering at him; He has won the game.

"Wildcats win!"

I watch the team trout around, Troy in their grasp, as if they have just won a championship or something important.

I sigh, and find my bag, moving out from underneath the boorish bleachers. I walk quickly, in hopes to avoid any unwanted company. And to avoid Taylor and her girls. I do not want to explain anything.

I was _going_ to wait up for Troy—I would have congratulated him. I would praise him; worship him for his mad basketball skills. But at the moment, that all sounds so difficult. And I don't know why. Maybe it's because I can tell he's busy.

I continue walking until I meet the front doors. People and students are coming out, gossiping vigorously about the previous game. I hear girls gushing over Troy, and how nice he looks - all muscular and sweaty.

I roll my eyes. He _does_ look good, but surely, don't they have anything better to talk about?

I must be insane, standing here, waiting patiently for Troy Bolton. Of course, he is being swarmed by people, being complimented, being praised. They _adore _the boy. He is their golden boy, their little celebrity. And me, I'm just a little part of his life they don't know about. I'm the irrelevant part of his life. Yet, I wait. And I wait, eager to see him, eager to look into his baby blues again.

It is no shock for my hopefulness to vanish. It happens so often. I should have seen it coming, right? I stand, my arms folded, leaning against the front door. I become _desperate_, anxious. And then, I hear familiar voices.

"Oh, Troy, _please_. You were great." Her voice makes me smolder, as I stand there.

And I can just see her flourishing golden hair from the side. _She_ is walking next to him.

It is the perfect scene, something you'd see in a fairytale, in a book. It seems so picture-perfect. I mean, he fits their clique so well, I cannot interfere. I can only glance, almost envious. He doesn't see me. He is looking elsewhere. He looks appreciative of their compliments, their worshiping. They stand so gracefully, beside him, as if they are best friends with him—and had been for eternity.

Chad stands on one side, Troy on the other. Miley, Sharpay, and Lauren . . . they all are next to him, touching his muscles, and cooing random things into his ear. He doesn't seem moved by them, but at the same time, he isn't forcing them away. Chad, he's by the main basketball players—Jason, Zeke. They only laugh and snort at the way the women are dallying with Troy.

Then there is me, the less extraordinary version of the girl next door. I feel misplaced for a second, as they begin to advance towards me. Troy's eyes suddenly flicker, and I can feel his oceans boring into my back, as I turn around quickly, and begin walking away. Before I do though, I notice the sense of regret in his irises.

I instantly lose the anger and envy I'm feeling. Maybe it is because he has rights, he has the freedom to speak with whoever he wants to. Maybe it is because I'm so obsessed with him, so blinded by him, that I just can't afford to get upset with him. Or maybe I am just too thankful for having him in my life. Nothing else seems to matter, anyways.

Yet, I still feel moronic for even _waiting_ for him. That is dumb. Surely, I should have known he'd be swooned by his fans. I have no chance competing with that. I am just the outsider, the girl that doesn't fit in, the outcast. And that is never going to change.

I begin to head home, ignoring the display on the sky. The violet still lingers, as do my thoughts on Troy. Am I going crazy over some simple boy, just because he _talks_ to me? How is that even reassuring? I've been here so many times—just to get stabbed in the back again. But in my heart, I know Troy will not do that.

He is so genuine and sweet. He isn't like the rest of them. He has feelings. He is real. And maybe I should be mad at him, maybe I should care that he was talking to _them—_those who he claims he does not like. Still, I cannot be upset with him. And I can't give a reason why.

I open the trailer door, only to be greeted by yelling and screaming. I want to plug my ears; I want to go directly to my room. And that's what I do.

"I can't believe you would do this to me." My mother sounds more enraged than hurt.

I ignore the tears that are painfully falling down her eyes as I pass her. She is yelling at my father, which isn't much of a surprise.

"Gina. . ." My father begins, but his voice is muffled by a small smack.

I imagine my mother smacking him across his rigid, virile face.

"_Out_." I hear her hiss, as if she has lost her mind.

I can hear her crying. It seems as if she can't control her crying and hiccupping. I feel instant sorrow for her, as I lay down on my bed.

"But Gina-" My father only protests.

"No!" She wails, "Get out."

I hear a slam of the door, and what seems like a breakdown from my mother. I can only hear stifled sobs and frantic cries as I feel my eyes close. I'm far too exhausted to even get up and see what the matter is. I want to avoid it for a few hours. I just want to rest, really.

* * *

I'm not sure how long I drifted off. But when I wake up, my mother stands by my bed, uttering my name, as if she wants me. She holds the phone by her right hand, which is a dead giveaway.

I grab it, assuming that it is some relative—my grandparents or my aunt or uncle. I don't exactly enjoy speaking with my relatives. I have to lie to them; I have to tell them that life is faultless in New Mexico. When in reality, it just is not.

"Hello?"

My mother walks out of the room, still looking downcast, which I assume is from earlier. I am obligated to find out what happened with her and my father, and why she told him to get out. Yet, I am stuck on the telephone, with who I presume is my grandmother.

"Gabriella?" The voice is different - not what I expect.

It's a young man's voice - deep and well developed. To my ears, it is like a song, my personal, favorite song. I become very surprised.

"Troy?" I am confused. "How did you get my number?"

"Simple, Gabriella. Phone book." There's a hint of humor in his tone. "Why did you race off like that, yesterday?"

I become nervous. He looked in the phone book? Had he encountered my address, also?

"I—my parents wanted me home." I stammer. "I had to hurry."

"Your mom sounded kinda mad when she answered. Is everything all right?" He sounds concerned.

"Everything's fine." I lie, biting my bottom lip violently.

He sighs into the phone, now beginning to sound apologetic. "I hope you're not mad that I was hanging with _them_. They approached me, Gabriella. It wasn't like I came up to them. They were talking to Chad, and they started talking to me."

"Troy-" I begin, a smile easily spreading across my lips. "It's okay. I'm not upset. You are free to talk to who you want to. I think you and I both know that I don't control your life." I cannot help but chuckle. "You didn't call to . . . apologize did you?"

He seems embarrassed, "Uh . . . kind of. I wasn't sure if you'd be mad or not. I'm glad you're not though."

I can imagine him smiling, that dazzling smile. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything."

"O-oh, no." I assure him.

An awkward silence comes between us.

"So. . ." He seems anxious to keep the conversation. "What are you doing today, Gabriella?"

I have not realized that it is already Saturday afternoon. I have slept in.

"I um.. have a lot of work to do, chores around the house you know.. you?" I'm lying to him, but that's nothing new. I hate to look so boring, as if I'm just sulking in my sorrows.

"Oh. . . well, nothing." He suddenly sounds disappointed.

"I-I . . . have to go."

I have no idea why I am so anxious towards getting off the phone with him. I suddenly begin to wonder if I am becoming afraid of him. Is it because of the way he makes me feel?

"Wait." He stops me, though his soft voice never falters. "Can I call you some other time this weekend? And we could just hang out . . . if you want?" How can I _ever_ resist such a request?

"Yes of course." I remember my mother and father's dilemma. "Goodbye Troy."

"Bye Gabriella. . ." I hang up after his response, which sounds more nonchalant than anything.

I wonder why he even bothered calling me. Am I really that fascinating? I don't understand.

I set the phone down, heading towards the narrow room we call our living room. It seems so small though, I doubt the rich and the famous even consider it that. It is more like the size of a bathroom.

My mother sits on the couch, her head in her hands.

"Mama?" I inquire, trying to get her attention.

Her large, chocolate-brown eyes, the same color as mine, look up. She looks dejected, and hurt.

"What's the matter?" I cannot help but worry.

"Gabriella. . ." She whispers, her voice cracking from emotion.

"_Never_ let a man take over your life, you hear me?" She sounds serious, yet so broken. "Men are all the same. They only want to use you. They're convinced it's always greener on the other side. They take chances, chances that will break your heart."

She continues to look at me, her grief-stricken attitude suddenly making me sad, also. "You're better off without them."

"Mama. . ." I take a seat next to her, comfortingly rubbing her back.

"What happened with Papa?" I notice a look of abhorrence appear on her face at the mention of him.

"_Pig_." She mutters, lowly, so I can barely hear.

Her tears become more vicious. "He found a new job, sweetie." She continues looking down to the carpet. "Fell in love with a coworker." I almost don't believe her words as she forces them out of her mouth.

"Mama, _no_." She looks up to me, as if reading my mind, and embraces me, tightly.

"We can survive without him, Gabriella." She promises, stroking my hair, gently.

"_Mama_!" I wail, shutting my eyes tightly. "Earl—he's back."

She breaks out of the embrace, quickly, giving me a skeptic stare. "No, Gabriella."

"_Yes_." I look back to her, fear must be eager in my eyes.

I begin to shake, at the thought of him doing it again—at the thought of him hurting my family again.

"Y-you're staying away from him, right?" She asks me, only hoping.

"He's back at school. He's found me twice, already." I murmur in response.

She grabs me by the shoulders, aggressively. "Gabriella! You must be careful."

"I know, mama." I knew she is right, I know it more than ever.

She looks away, a sudden look of affliction in her eyes. "You remember what happened to Stella."

She looks pained by the memory. I grab her hand, squeezing it, consolingly, feeling the same throb in my heart.

Stella was my younger sister.

"It won't happen _ever_ again, Mama. You won't lose me." I give her truthful eyes. "_Never_." She gives me a forced smile, and kisses the top of my head.

"I . . . must go to the store." She announces, giving me unreadable eyes. "You shall keep the windows locked, the doors locked. And you'll be here when I get back at three AM, after work."

It dawns on me—my mother has a night shift, now.

"I'll be okay." I kiss her on the cheek.

She grabs her keys and purse off of the coffee table. "You better be." She gives me a small smile. "And don't worry, Gabriella, we'll be fine without your father."

She leaves with a slam of the door, leaving me alone.

I suddenly realize the horrifying truth: I am alone, by myself, with no one beside me, no one to protect me. I feel the fear engulf me, easily. And I look to the blocked off windows, just wanting to feel secure again.

I grab the phone, without another thought, dialing the number, which must have been a cell phone that Troy called me off of.

Come on, Troy. Answer, please.

I am _desperate_, again.


	10. Chapter Ten: My Strength

"Hello?" It is bizarre how appeasing it is to me; how suddenly relieved I feel hearing Troy's melodious, soothing voice.

I swear fate is being kind to me for once.

"Troy." I breathe so briskly—I'm shaking, petrified of being alone. Why now? I did not know. Maybe it is all because of Earl.

"Gabriella? What's going on?" He sounds worried, though I cannot blame him.

He probably detects the fear in my voice.

"Are you preoccupied?" I inquire, as hastily as before.

"Uh, no?" He seems confused, yet eager. "Why?"

"Can I . . . meet you somewhere? Maybe that street a few blocks from the café. I think it's off of Central Ave."

I must be insane. He just moved here, and I am giving him these strict directions.

"Um, yeah, sure. Now?"

"Yes." Once again, the desperate girl speaks. "Goodbye."

I hang up as if I'm afraid to speak anymore. What ever is taking me over?

I cannot stop trembling—the fear seems to engulf me, thoroughly. But why now? I am all alone. I have no one to run to, no one to protect me. I am vulnerable, and the boarded windows never seem to comfort me.

Why Troy? I don't know. It seems irrational to depend on him, yet it seems understandable. He's the only person I can sincerely speak with. He does not judge me; he actually _wants_ to listen. What will I speak with him about? Possibly nothing. I may not even tell him my conflicts; it'll only make him worry. I'd just like to see him, to be solaced just from a look in those poignant eyes. I only feel at home when I look at him.

Omitting everything, I know that his smile can make me feel better. It is as if walking on a delicate rope, yet not being afraid to fall down. He seems to strengthen me, somehow.

I change my clothes, swiftly, throwing on a pair of _Wildcats_ sweats and a white tank top. I throw my hair up in a messy ponytail. Maybe I should be more attentive towards my looks. Maybe I should try to impress him further. But right now, nothing seems to matter, not even Troy's opinions on my looks. I just need to get away; I just need to break free of this prison. I have to get away from where Earl will suspect me to be.

Albuquerque's heat greets me modestly, as I stroll out of the trailer. It's blazing, as usual, and my legs are already sweating as I begin walking away from the junkyard I call my home. As usual, small children are outside, sitting on their porches, talking loudly, blaring their jam boxes, or at least what they want to call a jam box. Most are too poor to even afford one and simply settle with a radio. I walk passed them, quickly, trying to avoid friendly conversation. They are of my kind—impoverished and hopeless. Yet, they seem unearthly, as if they are still living in the 1940's. They are careless, and they are in their own worlds, not noticing anyone walking by. They are ignorant to their environment.

I'm wearing flip flops, and the ground seems to ignite my feet as I walk. By time I'm at the corner of Central Ave, I find my feet scorching hot. They hurt, but I continue walking until I meet up with the street by the café. I take a rough seat in the middle of the light, dead grass, anticipating Troy's arrival. I become nervous, thousands of thoughts swimming through my mind.

What will I say? What _can_ I say? Anything, of course—anything to hear his voice, anything to feel okay again, to be unafraid.

He arrives with a quick blare; his stereo must be insanely loud. As usual, he's looking magnificent in his lustrous silver-colored Audi. When he gets out, locking up his car, he has some sort of swagger, something that makes him shine. He's wearing a navy-blue beanie which seems to hold his perfectly tousled hair in place well, a white t-shirt that embraces his muscles well, and a pair of jeans, also fitting his backside well enough.

I have to regain my breath as he approaches me—the colorless, grotesque Gabriella Montez.

I get up from the grass, and our eyes lock in unison.

"Hey. So I'm guessing you changed your mind about hanging out then?" There's a hint of humor in his tone.

"Possibly." I answer, timidly.

I can't help but let a small smile form on my lips. As usual, his presence makes me feel fathomed.

"Well, if that's the case, let's do it over some food. I'm _starving_." He grins, persuasively, looking back to his car.

* * *

"You seem . . . tense." Troy looks passed the menu - eyeing me inquisitively.

"Oh, I'm just . . . tired." I lie, biting my bottom lip, averting my eyes.

"Aren't you gonna get something?" He asks, furrowing his eyebrows while watching me.

I push away the menu, "I already ate."

I haven't but honestly, he doesn't have to cater to me.

"Yeah right. You know I'm pretty good at predicting something being delicious. You know heaven? This food is kinda like that." He chuckles, giving me a fake forbidding glance.

"It's quite okay, really. This may sound ridiculous, but I just wanted to see you." I must be absurd, saying such moronic things.

Surely now he'll take his leave of me. I cover my mouth, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, Troy; I didn't mean to say that." I'm looking down at the table, feeling dumb, and my face probably bright red.

"Why are you apologizing?" I look up to find befuddled blue eyes. "You didn't do anything wrong. I called you earlier for the same reason."

"Why?" I ask, unable to hold my curiosity.

He seems amused by this question. "Why not? You're Gabriella."

"That's my point. Why me?"

"Why not you?" He furrows his eyebrows.

"I'm kind of a mess." Surely he already knows this.

"I don't think so. I think you're just a little shy, that's all." He smiles at me; the butterflies seem even more intense in my stomach.

"_Troy_." He is oblivious. "I am not shy. I'm afraid."

"Exactly, and like I was telling you, there's nothing to be afraid of. I'm not gonna eat you." He assures me, the smile never leaving his face. "Anyone who has a problem with you is ignorant to the beautiful girl on the inside."

Wow, he is good at words.

How can I not blush after him saying something like that? He is so suave, it simply astounds me.

The waiter approaches us, wanting our order. I can't help but recognize her, with her bleach-blonde hair and hazel eyes. Her obvious simulated eyebrows make her stand out. And her twiggy tan legs. I look down, instantly.

I can imagine her, batting her eyelashes at Troy, "Hi, what would y'all like today?" It's definitely her; the southern accent seems to give it away also.

"We'll just take two Pepsi's for now." Troy responds, and I can see him smiling at her from a sideways glance.

He is always so civil. How?

"All right, darlin'." She writes the Pepsi's down on her paper.

Is that even necessary? It is not hard to remember.

"Just call me when you know what you'd like."

My eyes finally come up, after she leaves our table, swaying her hips from side to side, as if she is some kind of model. She is one of those girls that try too hard to look good.

"Why do you do that?" Troy's eyes are on me as I look up.

"Do what?"

He looks away for a second, as if frustrated. "You avoid people like that."

"It's nothing." I murmur, quietly.

"Yeah, whatever, Gabriella. It's obviously something." He almost looks angry, an emotion I've never seen him feel before.

He flickers his eyes away from me for a second, then sighs. "I heard you told off Earl last night. Why?"

Oh gosh, how I don't want his name to come up. Just by hearing it, I feel nauseated.

"I told you that I don't like him, Troy." My voice is shaky yet merciless.

"There's a reason. You can't just judge people you don't know." Troy refuses to look at me.

He seems to be getting more agitated by the second.

"Why are you angry?" I suddenly question, looking at him, weakly.

He doesn't meet my eyes. "It's like . . . you wonder why people don't talk to you."

"Oh, so now you understand?" I snarl at him, suddenly taken back by his words and the bitterness in them.

"You can go and tell them, maybe taunt me like them also. It's not like it's nothing new." I'm not even raising my voice, just looking down with disappointed eyes.

I feel my heart breaking right here and now, but what can I do?

"God, Gabriella, will you just _stop_?" He snaps, his eyes now flickering onto mine, enraged.

I look into those beautiful eyes, but I can't find the comfort anymore.

I get up quickly, "Fine. I'm leaving." I feel warm tears approaching my eyes, my heart crumbling from the inside.

This shouldn't be a surprise, should it?

"Wait, Gabriella. . ." I'm almost outside the door, when his voice changes tunes. "I didn't mean it like that, seriously."

I can't even turn around—my eyes are filling with tears. I feel so manipulated and broken, already.

"Why wouldn't you? I am insane; I don't have any friends because I push everyone away. You're correct."

I finally muster enough strength to turn around and face him, right near the café's exit. My eyes are wet and evident with tears.

"There's a reason." He's so close to me, it's hard to breathe. "I know there is, Gabriella. Tell me. Please." He's beseeching, his eyes softening slowly, as the tears in my eyes only come down harder.

"Troy, I can't." I whisper, blinking them back.

I head out the doors, not wanting people to stare at me any further. I curl up in a small corner at the edge of the café unable to suppress my tears of agony any further.

Troy advances me, sitting on the ground next to me. "Don't cry, Gabriella." He wipes one of the tears from my eyes. "That was stupid, I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry." He holds sorrow in his eyes, as he watches me with those gorgeous eyes. "I'm not gonna ditch you, Gabriella. I just . . . I wanna know why." He's sounding so sentimental; I almost just want to tell him everything.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." I assure him in a whimper, my head cradled in my chest.

"I'll believe anything that you tell me, just tell me." His words, so passionate and beautiful, I'm so susceptible towards them.

"Earl. . . I met him once before." I close my eyes, the pain overwhelming me, the images replaying in my mind. "We aren't strangers. I met him last year."

Troy's watching me with interested eyes.

"He lives by me, we're practically neighbors." I feel a burn in my throat at the memory of walking home that night. "One night, I was walking home alone. . ."

Troy suddenly looks a bit bothered.

"I know it's dangerous, whatever. I ran into him and a few of his friends." I swallow, remembering their faces, vividly. "He wouldn't let me pass. . ."

I cannot look into Troy's eyes anymore, they were far too overwhelming.

I look elsewhere, "Not until I satisfy his needs."

"Wait . . . _what_? Gabriella. _No_." Troy's expression changes dramatically, suddenly looking alarmed.

The incredulity in his eyes proves that he wishes it isn't true, and that he doesn't want to believe it. "You're joking, please, tell me you're joking."

I look down to the concrete, "I wish I was joking." The feeling of emptiness is so familiar at this moment. "Do you know how much I wish I was joking?"

"He didn't . . . he didn't . . . _rape_ you, did he?" Troy fights with his words, looking tortured by each one of them.

"No, no." I respond, quickly, in disgust. ". . . Other things." I bit my bottom lip, roughly.

I don't want to explain. I can see his demonic eyes in my head, his aloof lips, and his evil smile. I shiver.

"What other things?" Troy looks desperate, yet still as upset as he was before, as if he's ready to literally kill Earl.

"H-he . . . made me get down . . . o-on my knees, and. . ." I cannot muster the words out; they are far too afflicting to deal with.

The nightmares of that night seem to spread through my brain, they seem to haunt me. I cannot shake them off. I feel the disgust, the abhorrence, the fear. I'm suddenly trembling, and soft sobs are emerging from my mouth.

"Gabriella, no." Troy's shaking his head, as if he doesn't want to believe me, again.

I shrivel into this ball even further, the tears seem unbearable, and I'm almost choking on them.

"Oh my god. . ." I hear him mutter, in distress.

"Gosh, Troy, I hate him so much . . . and it doesn't even stop there." I mumble, through the hiccups and sobbing.

He hasn't moved since I told him any of this. He's only looking at me with painful eyes, as if he cannot stand the fact that it is true. I almost wish I never told him. It hurts _me_, the way he looks so tortured.

"He . . . wouldn't leave me alone. He would watch me at night. I could feel his eyes on me. And our trailer, we don't have much of a security system, obviously. I was _petrified_ of being alone. He'd always be there, it seemed like. And it wasn't just my imagination. Sometimes in school, he'd come up to me, and say something to me, something to scare me, to make me even more afraid. I didn't know how to tell my parents. I just didn't. I mean, they wouldn't have believed me anyways, right? . . . Then, he started messing with _Stella_." A certain void in my heart seems to pang as I mention her name.

The destitution seems to be irrevocable. The hot tears are racing down my eyes again.

"She. . . came home from school one day, claiming she was hanging out with some strange man during recess, that he was funny, and she wanted to hang out with him again." I close my eyes. "I _knew_ it was him, Troy. I just. . ." The tears continue. "One day, she just . . . vanished. She didn't come home from school. My parents looked all day and all night." Now I'm crying hysterically.

"He _killed_ her! I know he did! That bastard!" I can't control my sobs, or my emotions. "She was, my best friend, Troy." I force the words out of my mouth.

"Gabriella. . ." His voice, poignant, and so moved.

I can tell that he is upset, that he feels remorseful towards my own pain. I'm sobbing, when I feel him put his arms around me, comfortingly.

"I can't believe this." He mutters, as I cry onto his broad shoulder. "You don't deserve any of this. You just don't. You're too good for this." His breath seems to tickle my ear, in a soothing way.

"She was an innocent child, Troy." I wail through muffled sobs. I feel him rubbing my back. "He's _back_, and I'm so scared, Troy. I can't even be alone for a few seconds. He'll do what he did to Stella, to me. . ."

"No, no, he won't. I promise, he won't. It's gonna be all right."

"Troy. . ." I move my face out of his chest, looking up into his ocean eyes. They seem to sparkle as I do this. "Please don't tell anyone."

"Gabriella. . ."

"Please, Troy." I beg, never looking away from those eyes.

He moves his hand onto the right side of my cheek, stroking it, "I won't . . . but Gabriella, he won't hurt you."

"How can I be so sure?" I ask, looking at him with hopeless eyes.

"Because . . . you're the strongest girl I know." His lips curve into some kind of smile, a smile that doesn't seem too genuine, maybe forced, but still makes me weak. "And you've already made it this far. You're gonna make it all the way."

I only hope he is right.


	11. Chapter Eleven: You Hypnotize People

"Well . . . wow."

Words can't describe Troy's expression. He seems so impaled, as if he had to suffer the pain himself. His eyes bore into the ground, incomprehensibly.

"I feel stupid. I mean, I had no idea, and I kept pursuing you to be nice to Earl. . ."

"Troy, it's okay." I promise him, giving him sincere brown eyes. "Nobody knows. I guess I put up a good act." I snort at my own comment, frowning.

"You shouldn't have to." His cobalt eyes emit comfort again.

I feel ease from then, again.

"It's just . . . how am I gonna just sit there in class and not seriously kill him? God, it just makes me so mad. . ." He clenches his fists, angrily.

"Please. It's not worth it. He just found me as weak; he assumed I wouldn't put up a fight, so he could take advantage of me. That's what everybody does." I mutter.

"Well, I won't." His eyes are still on me, sympathy radiating from them.

"I still don't understand what makes you stay." I whisper, wordlessly, meeting his eyes in confusion.

"Well, why should I leave?" His lips curve into a small smile, the smile that always brightens my mood. "I'm involved now. I told you I'm really here, and I'm gonna stay until you get sick of me."

"Yes, right, but what _is_ it? What is there so fascinating about me?" I persist.

He looks down, as if thinking, "I can't explain it." His eyes flicker back to me, stolid, indifferent. "It's weird. . . I mean, I'll see you, and I feel like I have to talk to you or something."

I can't help but blush, the smile forming on my face. I giggle lightly, amused by the hard look of concentration on his face.

"And _that_." The smile on his face turns into a crooked grin, his eyes sparkling in the sunlight. "That smile of yours."

"Of _mine_?" My face must be a cherry-red color. I turn my face away. "I had braces."

"No, no, Gabriella." He's laughing at me now. "I mean, when you smile, it's like. . ." He stumbles on his words. "I would say it makes me happy but that just sounds . . . too poetic." I'm now looking down, smiling.

"How can I believe that my smile makes you . . . _happy?_" I can't help but laugh.

He furrows his eyebrows, pretending to act hurt. "I mean . . . no, like, dang it, I can't explain it. . ." He scratches the back of his head. "Okay," He begins, his eyes meeting mine again, "you know that feeling when you just scored the final point at a basketball game and everybody's congratulating you?"

"Unfortunately, I've never made any points in basketball."

He shakes his head, looking annoyed. "So you received your report card and you got all A's. You feel . . . accomplished, happy, satisfied, whatever." He looks slightly embarrassed. "When you smile, it's like that . . . except, it's a different kind of accomplishment. It's like, my whole day feels . . . complete. It's so crazy." His face is turning a bit red.

I continue smiling, unable to hide my infatuation for this beautiful young man. "You are insane, you know that?"

"Well I've heard that before, but usually a girl responds with something different when I confess something like that." He chuckles.

"But this is _me_. People don't like me. Do you understand that nobody at East High can stand me?" I give him solemn, yet hurt eyes.

"Yeah, but that's their problem. I don't care what any of them think. What do _you_ think?" His smile is constant, sending infinity throughout me.

"I think. . ." I give him a stunned expression. I don't know how to respond. "I think. . ." I pause, looking into his interested ocean-blue eyes. "You will freak out if I tell you."

He rolls his eyes, humorously. "Gabriella, nothing freaks me out... well, except for sharks and snakes . . . plus, I'm not really good with heights either. . ." He's looking away, chanting on and on.

"Troy Bolton, you really are something." I giggle. "I . . . used to be so lonely before I met you." I recall, looking to the somber sky. "I feel like I could tell you anything."

"That's a good thing." He gives me a look I can't really describe. "I don't get East High at all, Gabriella. I thought they were all so cool, so down to earth. Now, I just . . . don't even know what to think." He sighs, thoughtfully. "This may surprise you Gabriella, but I know how it feels to be . . . well, a loser." He grimaces, looking uncomfortable.

"You? A loser? . . . And that was mean. You just called me a loser." I wince at him, wrinkling my nose, jokingly.

"I mean . . . well . . ." He gives me apologetic eyes. "You call yourself that too. . . I don't think you're a loser!" He looks suddenly sorry for his comment.

I laugh, good-humored. "Troy, it's fine, really. I know what the majority of wildcats think of me."

"I'm seriously sorry; I really didn't mean to say it like that. . ." He continues.

"Please, stop apologizing." I give him playful eyes. I really am not offended. He is here, that's all that really matters. He is listening. And he cares. "Tell me more about this _dorky_ Troy Bolton."

"Well, you think I've always been the cool, star basketball player?" He seems diverted by this. "Not a chance. I used to be a nerd in middle school. I don't even know why people like me now. I'm not really out of the ordinary or something."

I roll my eyes. He's so oblivious to his beauty, it's ridiculous.

"I mean, Gabriella, I hung out with the kids in school that everybody made fun of. I mean, it was almost understandable. One of them, well, his head was like . . . way too small for his neck."

I begin to laugh.

"That is _so_ mean." I attempt to give him my best scolding look.

"Hey, I'm just saying. He wasn't proportioned right. I mean, his head was really tiny." I'm still laughing. "And the other guy . . . well, yeah, he couldn't get dates, if that tells you anything. . ."

I open my mouth, giving him astounded eyes. "Troy Bolton! That is so mean. Seriously, some can't help how they look."

"Hey, it's totally cool. I had a gap in my teeth, and I was scrawny, like a tree limb, so it was okay. We were all video game fanatics. I think Nintendo 64 and Playstation were popular back then. . . I'm not for sure. We did play Mario all the time though. We were those kids that talked about video games, and only video games." He looks really engrossed in this conversation, I can't help but smile. "To this day, video games are one of my favorite things. And well, food too."

I laugh. "_Food_? What a surprise there."

"I was a kid though. And we had a good time." He assures me, ignoring my comment. "But people would always make fun of us. It doesn't really make sense that people make fun of you because you're actually cool. We were kind of strange, and I mean, one of the guys in our group had a head that was too small for his neck. That's obviously gonna catch some attention."

I poke him on the arm. "That is ridiculously cruel, Troy. Don't say that." At the same time, I can't keep from laughing.

"Aww, I'm just being serious. I'll make it up to you if you like. There's a great, tasty cheeseburger waiting for you in that diner over there." He points to the diner behind us.

I chuckle. "And a woman with a Southern accent who no doubt will be delighted for you to come back in."

He raises an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

I roll my eyes. "Oh, please. ‛If you need anything else, just let me know, _darlin_'.' Don't you realize the impact that you make on people? You hypnotize them, seriously."

"Ha. I doubt I'm _that_ cool." He gives me a look of disbelief, rolling his own eyes.

"I think it's going to rain." I confess, not knowing how to respond to the question.

"It never used to rain in Albuquerque until you arrived."

"Are you blaming me for the rain?" He raises an eyebrow.

"I'm not sure. It's very bizarre though." I chuckle, bringing myself up off of the ground.

"You want that burger?" He asks, obviously letting go of his question from earlier.

I only nod, heading towards the diner. He stops me, "Wait." I turn to face him, unable to ignore the small space between us. He slowly and gently wipes his fingers underneath my eyelids, "Your face."

"I. . ." I suddenly feel embarrassed that my eye makeup has been running. "You know maybe I should just go home. I already made a big enough mess of the day." I mutter, looking to my feet, ashamed.

The distance between us does not falter. He keeps his eyes locked to my face. "No you haven't. I think it's been a cool day so far."

"It seems like every time you see me, I'm crying." I murmur, aggravated with myself. "I'm putting some kind of burden on you."

"Are you joking?" He gives me skeptical eyes.

"I _never_ tell people these things." I whisper.

"It's all right." He promises - his voice now soft and tranquilizing. "It makes you feel better, doesn't it?"

He gives me a hopeful expression, as if he _wants_ to make me happy. Why is he sweet? Why? It doesn't make sense. He is too beautiful to be realistic.

"_Yes_." I respond, looking up to him with a small smile.

I have to stop myself from crying, simply from the satisfaction of someone being so kindhearted to me.

"Why do you want to make me happy, Troy?"

He doesn't respond as we walk into the diner again. Sure enough, two burgers are placed at our table, despite our absences.

We take our same seats, in silence.

"It doesn't really matter why I do it, or what I think about it, Gabriella." He blurts out, looking up to me with impassive blue eyes. "It's just . . . some kind of comfort. I have no idea." He looks away. "And want. I wanna be here. It's not obligation or sympathy, or anything. If that was the case, you know I wouldn't still be around. I'm here because I choose to be."

"I'm sorry I keep making you repeat the same thing." I mumble. "I'm just not used to it, I guess." I sigh. "I'm slightly worried that your presence will just make me more afraid of being alone. You know? But at the same time, I enjoy you being here."

"You won't have to be afraid, because you won't be alone." He says, dazzling me with his melodic voice.

"Sometimes I am. Tonight my mother won't be home until three o'clock in the morning." I admit, unable to shake the empty feeling in my stomach.

I do not want to be alone, ever again. I know he'll find me. I just know it.

"I'll stay with you then."

"You are demented. Did you not think of your parents, possibly?" I give him wide eyes.

"I'll tell them I'm staying at Chad's."

"Troy. . ." I begin, shaking my head.

"Unless you don't want me to." He gives me inquisitive eyes, making me nervous.

"I . . . it's not like that, you know that. It's just . . . why are you risking so many things just to help me? This is ridiculous."

"Why won't you _let _me?" He seems befuddled.

"I . . . don't know." I admit, looking down. "It's just, my place will frighten you. It's . . . embarrassing."

"I'm sure I can deal with it."

I look away for a second. "Thank you." I whisper, unsure of what else to say.

His eyes flicker to me. "What are you thinking, Gabriella?" He seems frustrated, as if he can tell that I'm thinking something erratic.

"What I'm always thinking . . . why would someone so . . . well-liked be interested in someone the complete opposite?"

"Gabriella, please, just stop. I don't _care_ what the whole school thinks. You know I really don't. Don't you remember lunch? I care what _you_ think."

And that's where I decide to let it be.


	12. Chapter Twelve: I Feel Closer To You

Troy Bolton is the definition of a "go-getter". This is what makes him diverse from any other boy. Once he says something, he means it, and that's what goes. He never backs down on his word. I admire him for this.

"Let's go."

I don't want to leave the diner. I dislike lingering but I'm dreading the moment where golden boy, Troy Bolton, has to witness the nightmare that I call home.

The waitress is still watching him, admiring him. He seems so oblivious to the way he affects people, to the way he even affects _me_.

However, I am finished questioning why he stands by me. I spend too much time worrying, too much time wondering when I can be appreciating the seconds I have with him. Nothing lasts forever, anyways.

"Come again, darlin'." The woman trifles, collecting the money with a smirk.

I find myself walking outside of the café with Troy. Surely this picture is incorrect, it's not right. We truly are not the match. He's perfection at its best. When he walks into the room, he catches every girl's attention. Me, I'm the complete opposite. I am boring and trivial. When I walk into the room, nobody notices - I just blend in.

"Gabriella, did you hear me?" His voice, so angelic, it is so unbroken all the time.

He's looking back to me with concerned eyes.

I bounce back to reality, "Sorry, what did you say?"

"I think we should walk to your place." He looks to his culminating Audi, obviously worried about its condition.

I understand.

It does not belong around such a trashy area. It is far too beautiful.

"That's a good idea." His eyes flicker back to me. "You know, you don't have to. You're not required to be my personal body guard." I chuckle at the mere thought.

But at the same time, I just want him around, _always_. I can not admit that though. It'll only scare him away.

"I said I was going to." He seems serious. "You can't be alone." He acts like I'm a child who cannot fight her own battles. He can see right through me.

"I hate that." I mumble in a callow tone.

He gives me a forced smile, a smile that makes everything better, "Hey, it's amazing you're still sane. If I would have dealt with all of that, I would have gone crazy." He sounds impressed.

"I am crazy." I whisper, underneath my breath so he can't hear me.

I must be, tangling him up with my problems, only to choke him in the end.

I walk beside him, for what seems like hours. The atmosphere around us is simple and quiet. The only thing we can hear is the sound of our shoes crashing to the cement sidewalk. Nothing is stirring—it's peaceful, almost relieving.

We find ourselves in the same area that Troy had dropped me off at a few nights back, the area I claimed was near my neighborhood, where I'd get a ride from my mom from.

He stops, looking a bit nervous.

I copy his actions, watching his face. I can sense the fear encounter him.

"Troy?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows.

"How far is it from here?" He sounds uneasy.

"This is nothing." I comment, taking in the small, ill-fated houses that do not have windows.

His eyes move from the houses to my face, his eyes brimming with terror. However, he continues walking. I'm behind him. I can perceive the sudden hesitation in his steps. He is more reluctant to the path in front of him—as if he's worried something may jump out in front of him.

We arrive, and Troy's expression turns to disgust. He looks sickened by the trailers, the way that the small, Latino men sit outside, heedlessly, and the way that their children run around screaming and yelping, playing games with each other. They all wear dirty clothes, as if they are nothing but pure rags, and their hair seems to be bedraggled, as if they have not washed it out in years. The quietness has vanished. You can easily hear the sounds of voices, of different languages, of children. And there's a sudden, smutty aroma that fills the air of nothing but waste and filth.

I close my eyes, embarrassed to be from such a despicable area.

"Gabriella?" A voice calls out my name, from a small distance.

I open my eyes and find an older man, with wrinkle lines all over his face, his skin a dark, tawny-color. His eyes are an exhausted creamy brown. His hair is messy and has gray patches. He wears a pair of overalls that seem way over worn. His speech reeks with a Mexican accent. He's sitting in a rocking chair, outside of his trailer. I remember him as a friend of my fathers.

"Mr. Delgado!" Recognition is found.

Troy's nausea is softened when I say this. His mesmerizing ocean-blue eyes drift over towards me, curious.

"Hola. ¿Cómo está usted?" Mr. Delgado asks, giving me a friendly, toothless grin.

Troy looks even more confused. "¡Bueno! Es tan grande verle." I respond, honest.

"Ah, you still remember your Spanish words, no?" Mr. Delgado seems impressed. "You just keep gettin' prettier and prettier, don't you?"

I roll my eyes, "Oh, por favor." I chuckle. "I'm as ugly as a rat."

"¡Tonterías!" He exclaims, shocked. "I bet the boys don't leave you alone."

Troy isn't frowning anymore, just smiling suspiciously from behind me.

"Your papa must be so proud." Mr. Delgado assumes, thoughtfully.

I look down. "Ah, cerdo. My parents are divorced."

"No! Impossible. What happened?" He knits his eyebrows, disbelievingly.

"Oh, it's nothing. Papa cheated on my mama with a coworker." I act like this is no big deal, whatsoever.

I notice Troy's eyes now locked on me, also.

"Humph. And your papa was always a good man too." Mr. Delgado looks away from me, distrait. "Seems this place has gotten to him." His eyes jolt back to me. "You stay around here long enough and you're bound to go loco, no?"

I give him a light laugh. "Yes, exactly why I keep my distance."

He shows a set of his rotten teeth. "It's dangerous." His eyes blink towards Troy, who is just watching him curiously. "Hola. ¿Quiénes son usted?"

"Oh, señor, he only speaks English." I comment, smiling.

Troy's expression hasn't changed, "Troy, Troy Bolton." He introduces as the man lends him a hand.

"Jorge Delgado. I was asking who you were. You catch on well, muchacho." He smirks at Troy, amused. "Gabriella hasn't influenced you into living here too, has she?"

"Oh, no, I just. . . I was going to her house." Troy replies, casually. "How long have you lived here, sir?"

"Meh! Don't you call me sir. You call me señor or you call me Jorge." Mr. Delgado only has a fresh sense of humor.

Troy only looks more intrigued by him. "Señor Jorge," He looks diverted by the way his tongue emits Spanish words. "How long have you lived here?"

"Mucho Tiempo . . . too long." The old man chuckles. "It gets you, you know. You start having leftovers, not being able to pay for your bills, your kids start to grow hungry. This place will kill you." He looks a bit melancholy while saying this.

Troy shows sympathy. "You have kids? How old?" Why he is interested in a stranger's life still bewilders me.

Mr. Delgado seems only anxious to answer his questions though. "Ah, my muchachos, one is 18, the other 12."

"Wow, still young. That sucks." Troy looks down, heavyhearted.

"Troy, we should go." I comment to him lowly. Mr. Delgado does not hear.

Troy doesn't respond; he's too busy reaching through his pockets.

"Don't. He will only waste it on alcohol and drugs." I assure him, quietly.

Troy doesn't listen to me, as he pulls out what seems like a 100 dollar bill.

I gape at him, shocked to his gesture.

"You know, I have everything at home—I have a new plate of food waiting for me every night, my dad pays for the bills, I . . . don't really need this. Here, it's all yours for the taking, man." Troy hands Mr. Delgado the money, biting his bottom lip.

Mr. Delgado seems astonished, his eyes wide in surprise, "Hijo, usted entiende mal. . . I can't take this." He shakes his head.

"No, trust me, man; I've got enough of it. It means nothing to me, but it can mean something to you." Troy persists, nodding towards him.

Mr. Delgado's eyes never seem to decrease, yet he takes the money, still furrowing his brows at Troy.

"Muchacho loco. Me gusta usted. If more folks in this world were like you, the world would be a better place." He looks genuinely thankful, I almost believe he's grateful for Troy's endowment.

Mr. Delgado looks to me, "You take good care of Gabriella. She's a beautiful woman. She deserves respect."

"Oh, señor, usted no entiende. It's not like that." I object, in fear of Troy's response. Troy only looks to me, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Even so. You need a nice man to take care of you. I know my son didn't know how to." Mr. Delgado reminds me, frowning, disappointed.

I notice Troy's eyebrows furrow in bafflement.

"¡Adiós!" I call out, waving as I begin to walk away from him.

Troy eventually follows me, hesitantly.

* * *

"You didn't have to give him that money." I cannot help but say as we head towards the edge of the trailer park.

He seems just too perfect. Why did he do that? He didn't have to. It wasn't required. I understand that he feels empathetic towards the man; the man is living in pure poverty. I just don't understand why he made _conversation_ with him, also. He seemed almost interested in a complete stranger's life!

"I had no use for it." Troy replies, monotonously.

"Troy. . ." I look at him, as we continue walking. His eyes do not meet mine. "You are too kind to people. You put them in front of yourself."

"Sort of." He confesses.

"Why? They haven't done anything to help you."

"So?" He stops walking, and chuckles, lightly. He gives me a weak smile; the smile makes my heart skip a beat. "Gabriella, why did you tell me not to talk to you when we first met?"

I think for a second, becoming tongue-tied. I feel so pressured underneath his beautiful stare. And my brain is a bit cloudy. I cannot think clearly, his smile has paralyzes me.

"I. . . I didn't want you to feel regret for it. I knew that Sharpay and them would judge you and think of you as . . . well, lame."

"_Exactly_." Troy grins. "You put me before yourself."

"Oh, so you believe that I secretly _wanted_ you to talk to me?" I ask, jokingly.

"Everybody likes some company, sometime." Troy responds, ingeniously.

"True . . . but what if this wasn't a _sometime_?" I inquire.

"It's the point, Gabriella. You were thinking about what would happen to me. You weren't thinking about the possibility of you making a good friend, you know? You were just looking out for me, and you didn't even know me. I never did anything to deserve you looking out for me." Troy answers.

"Wow. . ." I breathe, looking at this magical boy standing in front of me. "You're right. I would have never thought of that."

"We all do things we're unaware of sometimes." Troy admits, beginning to walk again.

Is he aware that he's making me fall more and more for him with each and every word that comes out of his beautiful mouth?

Absolutely not.

"This is it." I look towards the trailer that I call home.

I can't help but glare at the hideous thing, for it is nothing but bad memories to me. There are memories of my parents…screaming at each other over pointless things such as money and bills. And it continues with memories of sadness; crying me to sleep at night, hatred towards East High School's 'it' group. I sigh at the horrifying thoughts.

"It's not that bad, Gabriella." Troy comments, positively.

"_Please_." I groan, wanting to throw rocks at it. "It's unbearable even stepping inside of this shack." I head towards the door, Troy trailing behind me.

"It's kind of homey." Troy suggests as I unlock the door.

I throw my house keys on the kitchen's counter. Once you get into my house, you are officially in our living-room, which is far too small. You cannot move, hardly. The carpet is a grungy brown color that makes me ill. The ceilings have stains on them, from God knows what. Everything is aged. The television is small, and delicate, in the entertainment center, at the far right of the room. The couch is lengthy and blocks the front door, practically. It's a matching brown color to the carpet, and stands foully on the far left side of the room, opposite to the television. The kitchen is connected to the living-room, at the north-side of the house. You keep walking and you'll run into it. It's decent with its white tiled floor and it's nicely designed counters. The fridge looks rusted and turbulent, along with the stove. There's a small bar with a few bar stools, it's in the kitchen, opposite to the kitchen's appliances. There's a hallway nearby the couch, on the right side of it. It goes directly to a small intersection. If you go left, you run into my parents' room. If you turn right and keep following the hallway, you'll run directly into the bathroom. And then, if you turn left before the bathroom, there's my box-sized room. The whole trailer seems far too small to function in.

Troy makes himself at home, easily. He takes a seat on the sofa, propping his legs up on the coffee table.

"Well, I'm glad someone feels at ease here." I kid, approaching him, taking a seat next to him. "Would you like a tour?"

"What kind of tour?" He asks, his gorgeous eyes breaking me.

"Well, would you like to see my room?" I suggest, unable to think up anything else.

"Your _bedroom_, hmm?" Troy chuckles, naughtily. "Well, lead the way." I don't realize how wrong I might sound when I say it. But I ignore it anyways.

He follows me into a small room that I like to call my bedroom. Well, I don't really like to call it that. But, it does define me. My room is like my palace. It has everything. It has all I need. My bed is settled by a window, a window that is boarded up, of course, on the far right side of the room. There is a closet in the corner, and posters of Brad Pitt, Johnny Depp, and Leonardo DiCaprio hang over my walls. I have a bulletin board and a dresser by my bed.

"What do you think?" I ask looking towards Troy's ogling eyes.

"Very. . . Gabriella-like." He responds, chuckling.

"Really?" I inquire, raising an eyebrow.

His eyes fall to me, making me weak, "You seem like a Brad Pitt type of girl."

"Oh come on. Who _isn't_ a Brad Pitt type of girl?" I giggle softly.

Troy doesn't answer, only walks deeper into my room, observing its surroundings. I've never known a boy that is more absorbed by my room. Then again, I have not known too many boys, either.

"I didn't know your parents got divorced." He admits, looking at the pictures on my bulletin board—a few are of my parents, Stella, and I.

"It just adds to the list of burdens I lay on you." I mutter, taking a seat on my bed, watching him, taking in his beauty.

"Not _burdens_. Every time you tell me something, I feel closer to you." He states, looking back at me, a solemn, meaningful look on his face. It catches my breath.

"Really?" I ask, airlessly.

He just laughs, a melodic, wonderful laugh, "Don't act so clueless, Gabriella. If I feel like I have to talk to you all the time, its obvious there's something going on." He looks back to the bulletin board. "I'm not sure if you even trust me though. You're still so hesitant. Though I can totally understand why."

"I don't know." I whisper. "They're going to tell you something—turn you against me." I look down, my heart pretty much breaking at the thought.

"That's _ridiculous_. I won't listen." His eyes are back on the bulletin board. "Who's this? Ex-boyfriend?"

I look up, his eyes are directed at an old picture of Eric, my first love, and I, that I never took down. In the picture, we're both smiling. His arm is around me, tightly, and his straight, perfect grin is evident. His golden-blonde hair glistens from the sun behind us, and I can see the fake infatuation in his eyes. My hair is long, passed my shoulders, and my eyes are sparkling, electrified by his presence. You can easily notice I'm into him, a lot. And Troy read it, very well.

"We didn't get that far." I profess, lowly.

"You look pretty happy." He mentions, his eyes darting back to me, indifferently.

"I was; I was really into him." I admit, sheepishly. "He broke my heart."

Troy's expression changes—he suddenly looks concerned. "How do you feel now?"

"_Now_?" I laugh, hollowly. "It's why it was so hard to open up to you."

He sighs, taking a seat at the edge of my bed, his eyes never leaving my face. "Yeah, but I mean, do you still care about him?"

"Well, there's a part of me that will always love him."

I don't know why I am testing Troy, as if I'm searching for emotion, but I am. I'm desperate to see his response, hoping that he does care for me the way I care for him. I don't still love Eric, of course. That's ridiculous.

". . ._ Oh_." Troy responds, looking away from me, a sudden look of exasperation on his face. "You know, if you really don't want me here, I can leave." He sounds so stern and serious, but the look on his face is nothing but pain.

And I don't know why, but my emotions are flooding with happiness. I feel good. I feel secure, secure that he cares. Why? Because, for a split second, I can tell that _he_ cares. A smile cannot be suppressed from my face.

"I wasn't serious." I look to him, chuckling lightly. "You seem upset."

Troy looks back to me, his eyes widening slightly. "Well…" He fumbles with his words. "I just. . . I. . ." He chuckles. "You . . . got me."

I giggle, amused by his stammering, "It was two years ago."

"That's not fair." He sighs. "I just . . . like you, but I've said that." He searches my eyes for a response. "And I like only you." He sounds so dead-serious, I can't not believe him. "I know that's hard to take in, you have enough to deal with. . . I'm not here to make things complicated though; I just wanna be here, I wanna help you."

"I know." I whisper, intoxicated by his beautiful confessions. "You're not making anything complicated—just easier. I like only you, also. I feel better when you're around. It's . . . some kind of security." I admit, timidly.

He doesn't say anything; he just looks me in the eyes, those oceans never breaking from my own. I feel so constrained by them, but at the same time, I cannot look away. I become lost in them, and I find myself continuously staring at them, as if searching for something. The smile I have on my face, it never leaves, and it never vanishes. I can feel it, very vividly. And he, he just looks to me, also, as if trying to figure something out, as if he's trying to read my mind, read me, see right through my expressions. I feel as if an eruption of blood has just flooded my entire body; there's so much anxiety and happiness it seems impossible to breathe. My nerves always act like this around him, and I'm always fidgeting and shaking somewhere. My heart's just jolting, thumping, as if it's loud enough for him to hear.

And then I close my eyes, suddenly feeling fatigued, as if I have not slept in the longest time. I yawn, precariously.

"It's late. . ." Troy notices, watching me. "You can sleep if you want. I'm not going anywhere." He promises, sincerely.

I just smile at him, "You know, when Mr. Delgado said the world would be a better place if there were more people like you. . . he was right."

"I guess." He smiles, he's so cute. "I'm just looking out for a fellow mucho."

I chuckle. "Troy . . . you and Spanish really don't mix."

"Seriously?" He looks hurt. "Dang it and I liked it for a second." He pouts for a second, and then looks back to me.

"I think you'd be more of a French guy, or maybe German." I suggest.

"All right, well, you sound hot when you speak Spanish." He compliments, winking.

I blush, madly, giggling, "You . . . loco."

"Oh come on. You felt cool, don't lie, you felt like a real genius because you knew another language."

"It _does_ come in handy sometimes." I admit, slowly falling onto my bed, unraveling the covers.

Troy doesn't move from the foot of my bed, but his eyes stay on me. "How long do you intend on sitting there and watching me sleep? That won't be interesting."

He moves towards the other side of my bed, now right next to me. "It _will_ be interesting—and I don't know, before your mom comes home, obviously. Hopefully your neighbors won't murder me before I get home."

I suppose that is a joke, but I actually find it possible.

"Wasn't there a video game. . . about zombies and neighbors?" He sounds so dorky, it just makes me laugh. "Oh, yeah, it was like, Zombies ate my neighbors, or something." As if zombies have anything to do with my neighbors.

I put a finger to his lips, my eyes closed, "Sh."

"Sorry." I can feel his eyes on me, still. They are so intense.

I can easily feel myself drifting off into sleep, but before I go into a hazy sleep, I feel him comfortingly kiss my forehead, "Goodnight Gabriella."


	13. Chapter Thirteen: No More Timid Kittens

I wake up on Sunday morning feeling rejuvenated and buoyant. This is the first time in a long time that I've awoken feeling so joyous and not cranky.

Unfortunately, I awake to nothing but my empty bed. I figure Troy must have snuck out late during the night. I cannot understand it, but I feel so worry free with Troy near me. It is like a giant draft of woe has been taken away from me. I feel as if I can sleep for once in my life, as if I have some sort of serenity.

I get up and throw my messy, jet-black hair into a ponytail. I realize I'm wearing the clothes I wore yesterday. I cringe slightly, and head into the bathroom, stripping myself and hopping into the shower.

As I let the moisture fall down onto my body and smooth the broken ridges of my hair, I begin to think of yesterday's events. They instantly bring a smile onto my lips. I have never been this happy. I mean I'm always on the edge, worrying or concerned about something or someone. And here I am, standing in the shower, smiling over nothing but a simple boy.

I let my dull hair dry limply on the back of my shoulders as I throw on a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. I head into the living-room only to be confronted by my mother, who is watching me, concerned.

"Gabriella . . . did you have someone over last night?" She asks, as if she had a camera plugged into the wall.

"I . . ." I stumble over my words, unable to lie to my mother.

"You know that door is never double-locked . . . unless someone locks it, and you and I never do that. We know that only one lock is needed." She looks to the front door, as if stating the obvious.

"Yes." I admit, sheepishly as I take a seat on the couch.

She only frowns, "Dear . . . it was that boy, wasn't it? The one that called?" I only nod, leaving her frown to harden.

"You know what happened last time, Gabriella." She lectures, her eyes averting from my face.

"Mama . . . I-I think he's different."

"Just like Eric was? And then he went and told everybody about our house, and our lack of funds?" She only grimaces, deeper, as if ashamed.

"I can't believe you would let him in this dump . . ." She glares at the walls which are stained, roughly.

"Mama!" I yelp, desperate for her to listen to me.

Just the thought of Eric simply cuts through my skin, "He's been around too long to be using me." I assure her, looking to my feet, solemnly.

"I hope you know what you're getting yourself into. Or what he's getting himself into. It's dangerous enough, risking his safety by taking him around these parts. You know that, right?" My mother looks to me, a protective, yet solicitous expression on her face.

"Yes I know . . ." I mutter, looking around our cynical trailer. "I've told him thousands of times that he doesn't have to be here for me, that he can go and hang out with Sharpay, which is best for him. But he always comes to me; he refuses to back down, Mama. I'm scared, scared of caring too much, but I think he already cares just as much . . ."

I think back to him getting envious over Eric, and the way that he explained that my smile and laugh makes his days much brighter. I think back to the way he looks at me, with that affectionate, indescribable look in his eyes. The thought brings butterflies to my stomach.

My mother seems to almost believe me. "Well . . ." She sighs, as if not knowing what else to say. "I'd like to meet him—just to make sure."

I chuckle. "You would love him, Mama." I promise her, confidently.

"Would I? Forgive me for being stubborn; I just don't want to see my daughter, heartbroken." Mama explains. "Or in the state I'm in." A look of desolation encounters her face as she looks away from me, distantly.

"Papa will realize his mistake." I tell her, optimistically. "He will, I know it."

Her eyes waver back to me, "Someday, I'm sure."

I give her a weak, positive smile, and then pull out my phone, watching her walk into the kitchen, distrait.

I look through the numbers I previously dialed, despairingly trying to find Troy's. I don't know what came through me, causing me to become so bold, but I dial the number, quickly, listening to the ringing over and over.

I'm disappointed to hear nothing but the voicemail, the voicemail that has his melodic voice.

"_Hey, this is Troy. Leave a message after the tone, and I'll get back to you." _

In the background of his recording, I hear a few people snickering.

"_Troy, you're supposed to press that button now." _

"_What? Oh . . . oops." _

I giggle lightly as the beep is heard, encouraging me to leave a message. I hold in my breath, nervously, than let some air escape.

"Hey, Troy it's me, Gabriella." I can't stop smiling like an idiot, but I try to not show it through my voice. "I just wanted to thank you for last night and to make sure you made it home safe." I pause for a second, unsure of what else to say.

"So . . . um, I hope to speak with you tomorrow, if not tonight. So, call me if you get the chance." The fervor in my tone makes me sick as I hang up the phone.

* * *

Monday morning comes faster then I anticipated.

I find myself gathering my books for first hour, as I would any other weekday. Personally, I don't want to go to school. I just want to sleep in, and forget everything. Troy never called back—I figure he is tired of me.

"Good morning." A muffled voice changes my mind completely, as I whirl around and find a very perky Troy Bolton, feasting on a huge box of _Dunkin Donuts_.

I grin, unable to contain my amusement.

"Troy. Why didn't you call back last night?" I ask, trying not to sound too worried.

He looks confused as he continues snacking on a juicy, white-frosting covered donut. "You called me?"

"Well, yeah. I wanted to see if you made it home all right, and to thank you for staying with me for awhile." I tell him, timidly.

He chuckles. "Oh, sorry, my phone's dead, actually." His eyes scan me, mystically. "Sorry I didn't stay too long. I left around midnight. I didn't want your mom to know I stayed." His eyes never leave mine. "I had fun though." A smile evolves on his beautiful face.

"Me too." I breathe, airlessly.

He smiles at me for a second, and then pulls out a donut, displaying it in a rather enticing manner. "Donut?" He offers, knowing I can't resist his smile.

"Do you understand how much fat is in that thing?" I ask, jokingly, as I close the locker from behind me.

"Are you accusing me of being fat?" He inquires, gaining a rather hurt expression.

I roll my eyes, "Oh, _please_, but if you didn't work-out, you know that those things would eat you alive." I inform him.

"Yes, but I _do_ work out." He reminds me, starting to walk me to first hour. "I'm not going to avoid delicious foods. Where's the fun in that?" He grins.

"There is none, it would just lead to a healthier, stronger you." I respond, smiling at him, in a rather teasing way.

"You seem . . . happy today." He observes. "I like it."

"So, it makes you happy?" I taunt, laughing lightly.

He doesn't look back to me, but smiles, biting his bottom lip. "Of course. You know I love your smile." He winks at me from the side, the wink that sends jolts of electricity throughout my body. His eyes then land on me, inquisitively, "So how was the rest of your weekend?"

"Sunday is a day of rest, of course." I reply, quietly. "What did you do?"

"Chad and I played some basketball."

"I would have never guessed." I chaff, grinning.

"Well, I mean, it's not like most of the time I'm playing basketball or something." He jokes, sarcastically, as he takes another donut, devouring it, appreciatively.

"Have you ever heard of eating pancakes at home, and then coming to school with a full-stomach?" I inquire, nodding towards his churlish box of donuts.

"Well, this strategy is much better." He answers, beaming. "You thought those sandwiches were heaven, wait until you bite into one of these." Again, he attempts to hand me a donut.

I refuse.

"Mm, alright, I see how it is. You think you're too good for the donut, well maybe he doesn't like you either." He chuckles.

"Oh no, whatever will I do?" I roll my eyes, laughing at his childish behavior. "It's quite messy; won't your first hour teacher get upset?"

He only scoffs, "Oh, Gabriella, don't you remember, we're _Academic Honor_ students, so the teachers are easygoing on us." He reminds me.

"Right, how could I forget?" I mutter as we stop at my first hour class.

"This is yours, right?" He asks, looking to the room.

"Yeah . . ." I respond, skeptically, getting lost in his ocean-blue eyes.

He just feebly smiles at me, "Alright, so I guess I'm going to have to wait until lunch to see you again?" He pouts slightly.

I giggle, halfheartedly at him, "Oh, how tragic."

His eyes are filled with the same look of admiration as they always were, "I'll see you later Gabriella." He whispers, soothingly.

He kisses my cheek, quickly, before walking away from me. I caress the side of my cheek where he kissed me; it burns, sensationally. I run low on breath as I walk into first hour, my heart beating ten times the speed of light.

* * *

First hour seems, well, tiring, and boring as usual. My mind swiftly drifts to thoughts of Troy as I begin scribbling down the answers to a Math sheet. I am not bad at Math; I can simply do any problem, without even thinking about it. My mind is my temple; it's the one thing that will never stop working.

As I'm writing down the answers to the Math sheet, I'm unaware of Kelsi, who had just moved over a seat, watching me write down the answers.

"Hey." She says, a rather amicable, yet mousy tone coming from her.

My eyes lift up, meeting two pairs of an emerald green mixed with a river blue.

"I just wanted to let you know, about Friday, we weren't upset that you yelled at Earl. Troy told us how he manipulated all those friendships of yours. I wouldn't like him either if he did something like that." She begins, apologetically.

I raise an eyebrow, perplexed on what she's talking about. I figure Troy must have made up some reason why I dislike Earl, omitting the advances I told him that he made on me in the past.

I put on a smile, "No, no, I shouldn't have made it into some dramatic scene. I understand that Martha likes him, and everything."

Kelsi only rolls her eyes, "Oh _please_. Taylor and I both dislike Earl. He's kind of creepy, I think." We both giggle quietly. "I just didn't want you to think that we didn't understand—because we definitely do." She gives me a reassuring smile.

"Um. . . well, thanks, for, well . . . being understanding." I stammer, unable to think of something better to say.

"And well, even just being nice in general." I add, chuckling slightly. Most people weren't nice to me.

"Oh, of course. And you know, Troy also told us about Sharpay and everything. You shouldn't even worry about her, she's just ignorant." Kelsi continues.

I don't respond, but she watches me write, frenetically. Her eyes light up, "Say, are you any good at music, Gabriella?"

"Music?" I ask, a bit tentative towards her sudden friendliness.

She sighs, "Every year we have a musical . . ." She looks to the desk, submissively. "And every year Sharpay or her brother gets the leads." Her eyes flicker to me, anxiously. "You seem like you'd be good at singing and dancing."

I can't help but laugh hollowly at this, "Oh, gosh, Kelsi, I totally would but I'm a dreadful dancer. I'm definitely not coordinated."

"Yes, but, Troy isn't either, yet he's our star basketball player! Just consider it, okay?" Kelsi suggests, eagerly.

I can tell she doesn't want to deal with Sharpay or Ryan another year.

I frown, sighing. ". . . I don't know."

"Come on. At least give it a shot." Kelsi urges.

"Well . . . maybe."

"Just sign up if you change your mind." She tells me, as the first hour bell rings.

* * *

"Waiting for someone?"

Lunch is my favorite part of the day. Mostly because I get to see Troy for thirty minutes, and I can adapt to new meals, thanks to his perfect judgment.

I find him leaning on the wall next to the cafeteria's door, anticipating someone's arrival. He looks flawless as usual-with his adorable checkered shoes, and unmovable mop of chestnut hair. He looks like a model-so divine and elegant. It's amazing to me how I managed to make this godly creature care about _me_. He turns around; his eyes lightning up at my appearance.

"Ah, there she is!" He swiftly wraps a playful arm around my shoulder, leading me into the cafeteria. I feel unstable at his touch.

"So, today, I was thinking . . . the salads here are pretty good."

"Oh, so you took my healthy lecturing serious?" I ask, looking up to him, smiling.

"Possibly. I mean, why not?" He grins at me, showing me his whole two rows of flawless teeth.

I'm accustomed to receiving bizarre glances and jealous glares from the people passing us. It is prodigious how I notice the way people react, how I pay attention to my surroundings, where Troy's focus never leaves my face. He doesn't notice how obsessed people are with him.

He guides me to our usual table, taking our usual seats right next to each other.

"So, tonight I have practice." He tells me, his cerulean-colored eyes stunning me, as usual. "I was hoping you could drop by after. I'd like to walk you home." He's so thoughtful and sweet; I only stare at him, dumbfounded.

"Really?" I ask, tongue-tied.

It's noticeable; the way he feels. But at the same time, it seems so impossible, and so surreal. I keep questioning my sanity; I keep pinching my arms, thinking I'm in a dream. Why did it take so long for such a wonderful man to come into my life?

"Of course." He answers, as if it is the simplest thing. "I've overcame my fears of your neighborhood." He grins, proudly.

I can only chuckle, "Hmm? Well, I'll let you know, my mother does know about you. You double-locked the front door last night."

For a second, his expression turns worried. "Was she mad?"

"No, no. I explained . . . she's used to guys thrusting information out of me, remember? She was uneasy about it for a second, but I got her to listen." I assure him, modestly. "She wants to meet you."

Troy's worried expression vanishes within a second of me stating this. A pleased grin forms across his lips.

"Well . . . we'll have to arrange that then." It's funny how he can smile like that, again and again, and every single time, it gets me. His eyes dart towards the lunch line. "Ready to get something to eat?"

He walks beside me all the way to the line, adjacent to me, as if we are a couple, or even just good friends. It seems irregular how everybody's eyes seem to trace back to us. We are in the spotlight—we are the attention getters. I feel apprehensive underneath everybody's stare, while Troy does not even falter. He finds us normal, everyday people; he does not think we're strange together. He isn't like them—he doesn't judge. And I still cannot refrain from keeping my eyes on him.

I go behind him, like a shadow of his. He turns back to me, never looking nervous, always on top of it. It's the one thing I despise about this young man; he is always so calm and collected—never on the tip of his toes. He is just easygoing. And it takes a lot out of him to get angry, or aggravated.

"Gabriella?" I don't realize I'm spacing out, while standing beside him.

"Hmm, what? Sorry." I apologize quickly, a bit embarrassed.

"I said, so, do you want to hang out tonight?" He repeats-his eyes intense on my face as he collects his salad and mine.

"Y-yes, of course."

"Awesome."

I can't help but notice the way his eyes light up, the way the blue in them suddenly becomes more prominent. It only makes me smile.

He pays for our lunches, and then we make our way back to the table.

"You don't have to pay for my lunch every time you know. I'm not that poor." I tell him, lowly.

He looks offended as he takes a seat, "No, no, I wasn't implying that, trust me. I just . . . figure . . . I don't need all of this cash for one day." He looks down to his food, as do I.

The table becomes awkward, silent. Neither of us knows what to say after this is said. We begin devouring our lunches, meeting eyes once every few seconds. I try to think up something to say, but my mind is blank, and I suddenly feel even more nervous with the sudden uncomfortable air.

"Gabriella." A voice scoffs.

I can't help but frown at the familiarity of the voice. I know who it is immediately, before even turning around. It is so feminine, yet so fierce. It can only belong to Sharpay Evans. And that is one thing I do not want to deal with.

My eyes flicker from Troy, who just looks repentant, as if he feels bad about it, and possibly concerned, and then they flicker to the person standing in front of our table—Sharpay Evans.

She stands in a way that makes you think she took lessons on standing properly. She has one hand on her hip, and she's leaning towards Troy, seductively. I try to ignore the pang of abhorrent that hits me when she does this. Her eyes are cold as ice, harshly brown, as she impatiently glances down at us, scrunching up her face into a frown. Its easy to notice that she thinks she's better then us. Or at least me.

"Gabriella? Can I talk to you for a second?" She asks, in a fake sweetness.

Troy's eyes find me and he begins to shake his head, "Sharpay, whatever you have to say to her, you can say in front of me."

Sharpay only snorts, rudely, "Um, I prefer to do this alone with her. So unless you two can't separate, or she can't have a mouth of her own, I imagine she would. It will only take a second."

"Well, maybe she doesn't have a second." Troy begins.

I cut him off, edgily, "Troy."

I give him a thick stare, and then rest my eyes on Sharpay. "It'll be fine." I can feel the rockiness approaching me before I even leave the table. Just walking away from Troy, I lose a lot of stability.

I try to remember all of the nice things he told me, and how brave and bold I was to Earl. I can stand up and defend myself, I know that much. I just have to do it with Sharpay, also.

I muster all the potency I can as I follow behind Sharpay, hesitantly.

She leads me out of the cafeteria, glaring me down as we are out of Troy's sight.

"Okay, so two weeks ago, you had no friends. And now, I think maybe two people like you."

She looks disgusted by this as she wrinkles her nose at me, showing nothing but hatred towards me. She's whispering in a venom voice, possibly disallowing others to hear us.

"There is no way you are _ever _going to replace my position in the winter play, you hear me?" She growls.

I can't help but look to her, clueless. "Sharpay, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, don't you try to lie your way out of this one, hon." She licks her top lips, viciously.

"Kelsi was talking about asking you to try out. Here's some advice: _don't_." The bitterness in her voice only grows stronger.

"You are a loser, Gabriella; you have no chance, whatsoever. We don't like you, and we never will. Oh, and you should stay away from Troy too, he's most-likely using you. Why else would he still hang-out with Chad?" She folds her arms. "All his friends _hate_ you. How will he ever manage that?"

I'm fuming with distaste for her as I take a deep breath. "Look, I understand that you don't like me, that you're friends don't either. But you know what, Troy and I are friends. There is nothing you can do to come in between that. I'm really sick and tired of you pushing me around all the time. I am _not_ your personal handkerchief that you can blow your nose on every time you feel bad about yourself. Obviously there's a lack of self-esteem or something, if you're clearly jealous that I'm hanging out with Troy now. I'm not battling over him—that's not my style. But to be frank, you say I don't have any friends. Maybe you should reconsider who your friends are, Sharpay. And I'm talking about the ones that you didn't buy with your money." I bite my bottom lip, as a finishing touch.

"Please find someone else's life to mess with, because I am seriously done here." I suck in my breath and walk away from her, not once looking back, even after hearing her loud whine of irritation.

I walk back to Troy's table, where he is just sitting, feasting on his salad. His eyes lift up at my presence, and I notice the curiosity floating in them.

* * *

". . . Well, how was it?" He asks, almost leery.

I look down to the table, unsure of how to word it. "It went . . . well, I'd guess."

"Well?" Now he's paying attention, fully.

"She told me not to get involved with the winter play. Kelsi suggested it, but I never even signed up. I guess Sharpay heard about it, and didn't want any threats with her leading role. She basically told me that nobody likes me, and I have no chance that you actually care about me." I look away from Troy's eyes, unable to look into them.

"What'd you say back to her?" Troy asks-the anxiety evident in his voice.

"I told her that she should consider looking at her own friends, that is, if she has anyone besides the friends that she buys with her money." I reply, flatly.

My eyes finally land back to Troy's, in nothing but curiosity of what his reaction may be.

To my delight, an impressed grin appears on his face, giving me dozens of butterflies, and sending gallons of blood into my entire body.

"Well . . . I guess I was wrong about you being a timid kitten. You've managed to grow into a full-grown wildcat." He says, his eyes sparkling in admiration.

My heart only thumps with ecstasy as I look at him.


	14. Chapter Fourteen: Must Be An Angel

At Troy's statement, I can feel nothing but vigorous. He just smiles at me, in a different type of way. It is not the way that I'm used to. I'm used to him looking worried or concerned about me, or trying to analyze what kind of pain I must be dealing with at that moment. But this time, he just seems impressed – proud. And for this, I feel a sway of satisfaction. And for once I am not feeling it for someone else, I am not feeling good about somebody else's accomplishment, I am feeling good about my own. It seems to be much more delightful than getting an A on a test, or saying the correct answer to the teacher. This seems to overcome everything.

Troy and I depart from the cafeteria earlier than usual. We are walking down the hallway, chatting like any other day. It seems we almost have a routine to abide by now. We _always_ sit by each other at lunch; he _always_ walks me to my next hour. It seems unreal how all of this has happened so quickly.

It's different between us now – jauntier, less serious. We joke around and tell each other things that are embarrassing yet we are not afraid to speak about them. He is my best friend, the guy I can tell everything to. It seems impeccable to beat out how beautiful and how truly glorious he is, but I learn to deal with it.

People still gander at us, as if we are both from two different species. Some girls just glare at me and scoff with jealousy. They whisper to each other about how it seems impractical that I could ever be friends with Troy Bolton. But I learn to ignore them, they mean nothing to me.

Troy and I find ourselves outside the class I have next hour.

"Well, I'll see you after your practice?" I ask, taking a good look into his abysmal eyes.

The blue colors seem to go on forever – I can never get tired of looking into them.

"We have a few minutes, Gabriella." He tells me, a more amused tone to his voice.

I shuffle my feet, clasping onto my books tightly, "Of course." I act as if I noticed that, though I did not.

He just grins at me, "Now how am I gonna manage another three hours without you?" He sounds half-kidding but by his eloquent eyes I know he is serious.

I smile back at him, unable to hide my infatuation for this beautiful young man, "You will be fine, Troy."

He gives me a slight pout, "Again – I'm totally not feeling this whole separation thing."

I giggle at the dramatic look on his face, "What makes you want to hang out with a girl like me, Troy?"

"_Everything_." He moves closer towards me and pushes a strand of hair out of my face, that soft look in his eyes.

"Yo, Bolton, come on, man, you're gonna be late to class." I hear Chad belting out from across the hallway.

I look to Troy, who suddenly looks a bit disappointed. "That's your cue."

He sighs, looking into my eyes, "You'll be at my practice?" He takes my hands and begins to play with them, melting my heart with his beautiful eyes.

"Of course." I respond, gingerly. I could never resist him even if I tried to.

"I'll make a shot for you?" He suggests, looking rather excited.

"That would be wonderful." I whisper, unable to regain my composure.

He smiles, "I'll see you later then." He begins to walk away, backwards, still holding onto my hand. He winks at me before letting go.

I feel my heart thump loudly as I watch him walk away with Chad, heading towards his next hour.

The hours seem to go by at a very idle pace. I find myself anxious again to see Troy at the end of the day. It seems that nothing is as exciting as it used to be. Even school does not interest me. I find myself in a daze as the teacher rambles on about irrelevant subjects. I realize I can still get straight A's without even paying attention. I also realize that all I have wanted to do lately is hang out with Troy, be with him somehow. I must be obsessed with his presence – obsessed with the fact that someone is around for security. This is all new to me, really.

After third hour, I head to my locker and unravel my books for my next two hours.

I feel a presence from behind me and know my feelings are right when I hear a familiar voice, "Hey Gabriella."

I turn books in hand, to find Taylor McKessie, standing in front of me. I'm truly a bit shocked that she attempts to talk to me in the daylight like this, when everyone can see, but I decide to not question it.

"Hello." I say to her, putting on a friendly smile.

"I wanted to apologize about Friday. I hope you don't think we're mad about Earl or anything, because after Troy told us what went down between you two, we totally are cool with it. I mean, personally, I don't even like him – he's a creep!" Taylor assures me, smiling genuinely.

I figure Troy must have told her the same thing he told Kelsi.

"Well, I didn't mean to make a scene." I inform her, guilty. "Yes, I really can't stand the man, but I was hoping you guys wouldn't get upset."

"No, no. I don't even know why Martha talks to him. To tell you the truth, I think Martha's kind of weird also." She tells me in a hushed voice.

I only chuckle at her.

She watches my face for a reaction, "Are you going to the boys' practice tonight?"

"Well, Troy encouraged me to, so yeah." I respond, shutting my locker door carefully.

"I might make an appearance also. Chad's been kind of distant as usual but I miss the aggressiveness, you know?" Taylor jokes, laughing at her own comment.

I can't help but join her, remembering the violent looks on their faces.

"Who wouldn't?" I smile at her, pleased that she is not a judgmental person – I easily consider her a friend.

"You know, I have to tell you… do you believe that people can well, change other people's attitudes?" Taylor asks; I can tell this is a rhetorical question.

She continues eying me, an erratic grin on her face. "Gabriella, the first time I met you, you seemed very well… apprehensive, like you would break if someone touched you. But…" Her grin did not falter. "Within the passed week, I've noticed you seem… different. I'd like to blame it on something else, but I'd like to think Troy Bolton makes you happy… like, right now, you're glowing."

"Glowing? Am I?" I ask, oblivious to her evaluation.

I suddenly unlock my locker again looking into its mirror, curious to whether I really am glowing. As I look into the mirror, I see a very familiar girl, but truth be told, something is different. I glance harder, trying to figure out what it is. I realize very quickly – the sadness in my eyes seems less noticeable, and the colors in my cheeks are more lifelike.

I turn back to Taylor, stunned by her observation. "You believe Troy makes me… glow?"

"Well, that's usually what happens when you fall in love with someone – you're always in a good mood, and whenever they are around, you tend to glisten. I dunno, Gabriella. You get this twinkle in your eye - he's always on your mind, and you get the butterflies, and all you ever want to do is be with them. I mean, haven't you fallen in love before?" She surveys, as if I am actually in love with Troy.

Is that possible? I take in her comment for a second – thinking about the word _love_. Did that summarize my immense amount of feelings for Troy?

"I don't know if I'm in _love_ with him. I just met him a few weeks ago." I tell her, unsure. "I've never fallen in love before though."

"_Ever_? I mean, like, not even once?" Disappointment appears in Taylor's eyes.

"Well, I mean, puppy love, but nothing too serious." I mutter, trying to avoid the conversation about my first love – or first puppy love.

I personally wonder to myself if it was even anything more than infatuation. Those feelings do not even begin to compare to what I feel for Troy.

"You poor girl…" Taylor seems slightly sympathetic. "Well, whatever you and Troy have, it must be something pretty strong – you both seem happier." She sounds serious, and a bit contented with this.

"R-really?" I stammer, unable to take in the fact that maybe Troy really does feel _happy_ when he talks to me.

"Of course. But, hey, I'll see you at the practice tonight. Later girl." Taylor gives me a friendly wave before vanishing into the hallway filled with many people.

I watch her – analyzing everything she had said to me. Does Troy really make the melancholy disappear from my eyes? I know he makes me happy, I know he can make me smile with just his presence alone. I would have never assumed he would change the way I look to other people. Am I joyous? Do I smile at people in the hallway now? I look back to my locker's mirror, unable to unveil the mystery. I am not sure whether to take this as a good thing or as a bad thing. Of course, it can be good, for I will be happy and joyful whenever Troy is near me or around. But also, what will happen when Troy leaves my life? I will only become broken again – I will have that insipid look in my eyes, again, as if I am nothing but lifeless.

I know I am such an analyzer.

* * *

The school is so quiet when all the students are gone. It's almost peaceful. The hallways are so isolated. You can not hear a thing. You may go passed a few small classrooms where there are those after school geeks doing extra homework or retaking a test they did not get an A+ on. Okay, I admit, I am usually one of those people; therefore, I have no room to speak.

You can hear the music coming from the Auditorium where the play is being rehearsed. I am obligated to just lean my ear against the door just to hear how good of singers Sharpay and Ryan really are.

I decide against this and head directly towards the gym, where I can hear loud voices bellowing. Definitely the right place.

I walk in, trying to be subtle, as I head up towards the bleachers, finding a lonesome Taylor, who is watching the basketball players. I take a seat by her as she smiles in acknowledgment.

"Have I missed anything?" I ask, glancing to the pugnacious basketball players who look as if they are ready to rip each other's heads off any time now.

"Well, Troy and Chad completely bawled out Zeke for traveling, but that's about it." Taylor smirks, as if recalling the event in her mind.

I giggle, unable to block the image out of my own mind. "Sounds humorous."

"Very. So, I'm not really sure what's up with Chad lately. I'm assuming it's either basketball or another girl." Taylor looks troubled as she watches Chad swiftly steal the basketball from Jason.

"I haven't seen him with any other girls." I tell her, beneficently.

"Yeah, I'm not sure. I shouldn't worry so much about him – he's not worth it." Taylor mutters as we watch Troy go for a shot.

He makes it, and then I notice his eyes travel up to the bleachers, locking onto mine.

_"I'll make a shot for you?"_

I smile as he gives me a slight wink before going back to his practice. I feel Taylor's eyes filling up with amusement from next to me.

"Troy so has it bad for you, Gabriella."

"He acts like he does – but it's so hard to even believe it. I mean, look at him." I watch him as he glides passed his other teammates, beads of sweat pouring down him, yet he still looks as intoxicating as ever.

"Well, I'll use a direct quote, 'I don't understand why people don't like Gabriella – I think she's beautiful inside and out." Taylor's eyes flicker towards me, as if inquisitive towards how I may react.

I only inhale than exhale, "It seems too good to be true, you know? I mean… a month or two ago I was sitting alone at a lunch table, being harassed by Sharpay, and I had no friends. People avoided me. I was afraid of being touched, literally." I close my eyes, tightly. "Then _he_ comes around – and it seems like nothing but just a figment of my imagination. He's beautiful, he's nice, and he's funny…"

"Gabriella, he cares about you." Taylor tells me.

I feel tears reflecting in my eyes and I don't want to let them fall. "I don't know why I care so much but I don't want him to leave, Taylor." I look down to the floor.

"I couldn't stand it – especially him, not Troy."

"He's not going to – he's not that type of guy." Taylor's voice is soft as she realizes I'm practically in tears at the thought of Troy walking out of my life.

"I'm so scared though, I'm so scared…" I tremble at the thought of him disappearing – of walking out of my life. "I've never been this close before."

"Don't be scared. It's going to be just fine." I feel Taylor touch my shoulder, consolingly. "I understand how you feel, but seriously, you have nothing to worry about. Troy likes you, a lot. He is definitely not going anywhere."

Her words seem to sink in and they comfort me a bit more. I wipe my eyes, not wanting to reveal any sort of weakness to this girl any further.

"Sorry."

"Don't be." Taylor scolds, solemnly. Her eyes are on me, "Their practice is over, are you coming?" She asks her voice still tender.

I nod, grabbing my bag and following behind her as she heads towards the court to greet the boys. I notice the majority of guys dividing from Troy's side as we approach them – I figure it's because of me, of course.

Chad does not move, surprisingly, but his eyes lock onto Taylor, an unreadable expression forming. Troy's eyes simply light up as he sees me and he approaches me, grinning.

"Hey." He greets.

"Hi." I say, shakily, taking in the way his bronzed muscles look covered in ounces of sweat.

I'm amazed at how sexy he looks, even in perspiration.

"Hi Chad." Taylor looks to Chad, nodding to him, as if expecting a response.

"Hey Tay." Chad replies, casually. His eyes look to Troy, who is fixated on me.

"Troy, man, I gotta get home. I'll talk to you later."

"Chad," Taylor interrupts him. "Can I join you – just for a talk?" She gives him a thick stare and he looks shocked by her suggestion, but nods.

She follows behind him, reluctantly, leaving Troy and I to the court.

"So, shall we?" He swings a muscular arm around my waist and I become motionless to his perfect touch.

"Another dangerous adventure?" I kid, looking up to his ocean-blue eyes as we descend from the doors.

"I like dangerous adventures." He tells me, "However…" His eyes find me, penetrating me from just the glance. "I like dangerous girls even more."

I sometimes detest the way he knows exactly what to say to melt me. "So what's up with Chad and Taylor?"

"I'm not sure – Taylor says that he's acting distant again." I reply, informatively.

"Yeah… I think he likes her, he just doesn't know how to show it." Troy explains, as we approach New Mexico's blazing atmosphere.

I ignore the fact that Troy is still sweating – it just didn't seem to matter.

"I see." I murmur as we begin to walk towards my trailer's direction. "You played well, by the way."

"Did you see me make that shot for you?" He asks, his eyes trailing down to meet my own.

He is so much taller than me, but it seems to fit so naturally when he puts his arm around me.

"That was excellent." I smile at him, unable to hide my giddiness towards him in general.

"Hey, it was all for you." He chuckles as we approach the first street before my trailer park. "This place is a piece of cake now."

I roll my eyes, "When you first came here, you were practically shaking." I smile at the memory.

"_Practically_? I was, I was scared." He admits, laughing.

I love his laugh – it is so buoyant and melodic. "Petrified, actually."

"Are you mocking your own sense of fear, Troy?" I inquire, raising an eyebrow, dangerously.

He breaks his arm away from my waist and walks in front of me, turning to face me, a challenging expression on his face, "What if I am, Gabriella? What are _you_ going to do about it?"

"Good question." I laugh at his childish behavior. "You underestimate my potential, Troy."

"I actually do – I realized that today when you told off Sharpay. That was cool." He confesses, the smile never leaving his face.

"She had it coming, really." I exchange looks with him as I move closer to him,

"But you shouldn't estimate me at all – I told you I didn't like to be the timid kitten."

He looks at me for a second, as if thinking about something, then extends a hand, "Alright, I surrender – no more estimating Gabriella Montez." A smile appears on his face as I accept his hand, feeling the warmth of it.

We continue walking, hand-in-hand, "I don't remember your house being this far away, really." He mutters.

"Oh, Mr. Star Basketball Player is getting tired?" I joke, elbowing him.

"Yes, actually, after a three hour practice, I'm basically exhausted." His eyes do not meet mine again as I realize we really have been walking for some time.

"Well, you should come in for awhile; maybe you could meet my mother." I suggest, remembering how my mother desperately wanted to meet him.

I know very well that my mother would adore Troy. I don't know anyone who wouldn't like him, to be honest.

"That'd be cool." I can't help but notice the hesitation in his voice.

"She will like you, I promise." I tell him, intrepid about the entire situation.

"Well, alright, if you insist." I hear him chuckle from beside me, obviously giving in to the idea as we approach the trailer park I'm most accustomed to.

I still do not like looking at it – it still looks as grotesque as always in its colorless fashion.

Troy yawns, "Well, here we are." He lets go of my hand as we trail up towards the front porch, and I watch as he steps back, a look of uncertainty filling his eyes.

I had never seen him look nervous before – this must be the first.

"Troy." I plead, giving him hopeful eyes.

"Fine." He sighs, yielding as I unlock the door, strolling in.

He follows behind me, a slower pace accompanying him.

"Mama!" I yell, in hopes to summon my mother.

I assume she is doing laundry, for usually she is in the living-room.

From behind me, Troy is shifting his eyes neurotically.

My mother appears within a minute or two, as if to greet me. Her eyes then flicker to Troy, who freezes up at her glance. She examines him, from head to toe. A look of astonishment is prominent on her face, and I can only assume she's wondering how I managed to bring home a boy like Troy.

"Ma, this is Troy Bolton – the boy I've been hanging out with lately." I explain to her, acknowledging Troy with my eyes.

He just stands straight, not moving an inch, extremely stiff.

"Ah, hello. Nice to meet you, Troy." My mother gives him a polite smile.

"Likewise, Mrs. Montez." Troy gives her one of his charming smiles, and I can tell she's already dazzled as much as I am.

"Well, come on in, why don't you? I was just going to make some subs." Mother invites, her eyes looking to me with approval.

"Well, I guess it couldn't kill me, especially when I love sandwiches." Troy's friendly side came out quickly, and I can tell he already felt comfortable.

I'm staggered at how he can talk to people, so easily, even when he does not know them.

I take a seat on the couch and glance at him. He takes the seat next to me, indifferently.

"My mom is an excellent cook." I inform him.

"Oh, that's probably the only thing I'm good at." She jokes from the kitchen, chuckling.

"Well, Troy's quite the food fanatic." I look to Troy, provocatively.

"Oh, really? Well that's good. So, Troy, what do you do in your spare time?" My mother always has to survey the guys – and that is exactly what she is doing.

"Well… basketball and school… and of course, I enjoy being with Gabriella." He gives me a cheesy grin as I roll my eyes looking away from him, blushing.

"How sweet. Basketball? Isn't your father the coach?"

"Yes mah'm." Troy answers in a more militant manner.

"Oh, please, no mah'ms, you know I prefer people just call me Gina. I feel so old being referred to as mah'm or Mrs. Montez." She gives Troy a benignant smile.

"So you're rather good at basketball, then?"

"He's the star player of the team." I pitch him, and Troy just bites his bottom lip, his eyes shifting around the room again.

"Well, then. That must be something. Good grades, too?" She inquires.

"Well, I've had Academic Honor classes since freshmen year." Troy sounds awfully presumptuous about this one.

"Hmm, so you're a brainiac like my daughter?" She kids, flipping the sandwiches onto two plates, quickly.

"Sort of." Troy looks to me, a look of admiration on his face.

My mother comes into the room, lying down the plates onto the coffee-table, one for me and one for Troy. She looks rather egotistical about her subs as she strolls back into the kitchen.

"This looks delicious, thank you." Troy says, politely, as he grabs the sandwich, practically shoving it down his throat.

I laugh at him.

"Something funny?" He asks, through his muffled chews.

"Absolutely nothing." I take a bite, amazed at how well my mother is at cooking.

"Its great, Mrs. M. But, you know, I have to get going…" Troy says after swallowing about half of his sandwich.

His eyes are looking out the windows – its getting dark outside and I can tell he is slightly paranoid about walking in the dark. He gets up from the couch, and heads into the kitchen, as if he lives here, and throws the paper plate away.

"It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Montez. I think you have an amazing daughter." He gives her another heart-straining grin before striding towards the door.

I follow after him to say goodbye. He bites his lip in a rather apprehensive manner before he takes my arm gently and pulls me outside of the trailer, closing the door behind me.

His eyes are intense on my own. "I don't _really_ want to leave, but you know my dad's going to wonder where I am." His eyes search my own for a response.

"I'm pretty sure my mom likes you." I assure him, bold about the idea.

"You think so? Well, I tried." He gives me one of those winks that make my heart beat out of my chest.

Then, with a trouble looked on his face, he gets closer to me, breathing in and out. He looks rather nervous as he leans his forehead against my own.

"So, there's something I've been dying to do and if I don't do it soon I might just drive myself crazy thinking about doing it." He grins, the grin that makes my knees shake.

He moves his forehead and meets my eyes, and gradually moves in closer. I feel a tremble of anxiety jolt through me as I feel his lips coming closer and closer to my own. I can feel his breath on my face as I try to contain the butterflies that are piling up in my stomach at the closeness between us. He is beautiful – and he is going to kiss _me_. I almost believe I am dreaming for a few seconds until I feel my own eyes shut, automatically. And then I feel his lips press against my own; the softness seems to paralyze me.

I must stand on my tip toes just to reach his lips, and I can feel myself falling for him even harder with the deepness of the kiss. His tongue discovers the environment in my mouth and I feel the unfamiliar feelings of desire and want consume me. Was this happening? He moves out for a second and we both breathe in unison. And then his lips are on mine again – passion and vitality taking over the both of us. I forget all my troubles – the past, Earl, the hurt that East High has caused me for my entire life. I find a sweetness in Troy, a genuine innocence that seems to linger every where I go. He really did make me glow, did he not? How couldn't he? He moves everything he touches – he is just a miracle. He's the miracle God sent _me_ to save me from all of my difficulties. He really is an angel.

He moves away after time seems to be stopped and then rewound again. His eyes are still closed for a second before he opens his eyes – the beautiful blue color still noticeable in them.

"I'll… see you tomorrow?" He manages to ask, sounding breathless.

I only nod, as his eyes are on me. I've never known a guy who can look at me in such a way that it leaves me speechless, or a guy that can leave me in hysterics just from one kiss. I watch him fade away into the night, while I continue being featherless on cloud nine. A smile forms on my face as I dance in place with merriment. Maybe Taylor is right – maybe I have fallen for Troy Bolton.


	15. Chapter Fifteen: A Profound Memory

Ocean blue – the color that is bulging is my mind. I cannot shake the images I am seeing. They are prominent. They are endless. They do not stop. My dreams are filled with the same eyes I see every single day I go to school. I am nothing short of falling madly in love with Troy Bolton. And there is nothing I can do to stop myself. This, this is something I do not like.

I understand that love is supposed to be a meaningful, beautiful feeling. In this case, I am exceedingly afraid of it. Its ridiculous for me to even still question Troy's truth – he really does care. The real question is will he still care in a few weeks when I am certain of my strong feelings for him?

I wake up, feeling significant somehow. It's something that he makes me feel whenever he's near me. When he kissed me, I felt some kind of passion, some kind of force. I could easily tell that his feelings for me do go out on a limb.

But there are still things he does not know about me, even when he thinks he does. I am so profound that the facts go beyond normalcy. It's disgusting to think that my past has more complication to it than just Earl. What if there were more people involved with my life, what if I had other problems?

Seeing him, anxiously waiting for me at my locker, eases my mind, as usual.

"Good morning Troy." I greet him, unable to contain my happiness.

"Morning, Gabriella." He gives me that knee-weakening grin as he feasts on a croissant – him eating breakfast during passing period, who would have guessed?

"Food, again? And I thought you couldn't get something more fattening." I chuckle as I grab my books out of my locker.

"French food is something you can't joke about Gabriella." He lectures, as he moves closer towards me, giving me butterflies.

"Also, I have a surprise."

I turn to face him, only greeting a delicious croissant that looks as if it had just been freshly made.

"You got this for me?" I inquire, speechless, still amused by his hunger obsessions.

"All for you." He plants a kiss on my forehead before handing me the croissant.

"I know it's not the greatest – McDonald's is kind of cheap, but hey, I'm trying here." He grins, magically, as I smile at him, taking the croissant from his hand.

"Last night … I wanted to apologize for taking off so early."

"Its fine, Troy." I tell him, beginning to snack on the croissant.

We must look extremely interesting – we are just standing by my locker, eating croissants, talking to each other. And people already eye us for who we are… now we're much more fascinating, I'll bet.

"I hope your mom liked me."

"Trust me, she did." I smile at him, as his beautiful eyes seem to sparkle in satisfaction.

"Really? Aw, well… what can I say? I think I'm a pretty likeable guy… though I was kind of nervous." His grin never falters as his eyes never leave my face.

"You did wonderful… however, we should get to class." I note, watching other students beginning to head towards their first hours.

I clam my books up against my chest, protectively, and shove the croissant down my throat.

"I'll walk you – and Gabriella, those books look like they're about to knock you down." He observes, giving me a concerned look.

"Troy, you don't have to cater to me, really." I inform him, rolling my eyes as I begin to walk ahead of him.

He chases after me, loyally, "I'm a guy, and I'm going to."

He catches up to me, and blocks my path, putting his hand on a locker, halting me from my direction. His eyes are so abysmal, I find myself lost in them, as always.

"Gabriella." He strokes my cheek, and leans in, his lips brushing against mine – the static of felicity luring my hands to run through his hair.

I'm so lost in the moment that I don't even hear the bell ring.

He moves away, depressed, "Lunch…" He whispers, our fingers entwining, "I'll miss you."

He winks at me, before backing away, heading towards his own first hour.

I realize I am going to be late for first hour.

For once in my life, my tardiness does not mean a thing to me as I walk into first hour, late for the first time, ever. The teacher seems to gape at me, incredulously. Gabriella Montez is _never_ late for class. Even a few of the students seem stunned.

"Miss Montez, I'm sure there's a reason for your tardiness?" The teacher asks, but I just shake my head, in a daydream state, as I make my way towards my desk and plop down, sighing in ecstasy only to myself.

The smile is still on my face and I can tell others are confused. I ignore them and begin to work on my Calculus assignment. All my worries have vanished and I am not even concerned about my grades. I'm not sure why nothing means anything and why all I ever do is think about Troy Bolton but I need to get my head on right.

Kelsi makes it a habit to come and speak with me now. She scoots over and talks to me about random topics such as music, drama, school, friends, Sharpay's band of drama queens, and Troy. She asks me personal things that Taylor would… and I always answer truthfully. I find myself opening up to someone, quickly. It's very strange how everything has changed so dramatically. I am almost obligated to label her as a friend.

However, my anxiousness and my impatience seem to add up together until lunch. I'm ecstatic about the thought of just seeing him again.

Kelsi tells me that I seem happier, brighter, as did Taylor. I am changing.

As the bell rings after second hour, I find myself darting towards the lunch room, eager to see him again.

He's waiting for me at the lunch room doors, leaning against them, his books cradled in his hands. He looks so faultless, so much like an angel; it drives me insane every single time. He notices me and his eyes light up, as usual, and he looks delighted to see me.

He wraps an arm around me, playfully and kisses the side of my head, affectionately, "There's my favorite girl."

"I was late for first hour thanks to you." I scold him, jokingly as we head towards the table we usually sit at.

As we seat ourselves, he gives me puppy dog eyes, "I'm sorry, I just knew I wasn't going to make it through the day without that." He winks at me, and the butterflies just seem to come back.

I can't even reply, I only stare, mesmerized by him, entirely.

"You are… unbelievable." I breathe; still unconvinced he is even human.

"You don't believe me?" He pouts, biting hit bottom lip – something else that only attracts me to him more.

"I do… but, you're just … amazing, it's like, you know exactly what to say…" I whisper, just hypnotized by his eyes; never once looking down.

"It comes from the heart, Gabriella." He dramatically puts a hand to his heart, and smiles. "We should get some food though, shouldn't we?"

I roll my eyes, laughing, "Okay, Chef Bolton, what's on the menu today?"

"Hmm…" His lip curves to the side, as if he's pondering.

I can't help but giggle at him – he's so immature. It's adorable.

"You know, I think we're gonna go with a burger today, I'm just feeling it you know." He chuckles, grinning at me.

I follow after him as we head up towards the lunch line.

"So, we're gonna have to make one of those after-school dates again." He says as we continue moving in the line.

Others still stare at us, freaked out that we're even next to each other. I don't think any one can get used to it. I won't even.

"Oh, was it a _date_?" I joke, as he turns around and furrows his eyebrows at me.

"Well, Gabriella, as crazy as this may sound, I think we have a thing going on here." He says it so seriously that I just can't help but burst out laughing.

"Troy Bolton, you are one of a kind… and a thing? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

"Well, I was debating between a _thing_ and a _fling_, but flings aren't serious, and things can be, so hence, we have a thing." He grins, as if he just won a prize.

"Hence, we do." I smile at him – now I find myself just mimicking him.

I cannot help myself, every little thing he says, it's so adorable – it grabs my heart and takes it for a ride. He is like one gigantic roller coaster ride – the energy is boundless.

"Easy there wildcat." He says, casually, as a few girls wave at him as they walk passed.

He gives them charming smiles and waves back. I watch as they all go into hysterics and giggle to each other.

"I think girls are getting jealous that I'm standing behind you."

"They've always been jealous – the guys have been furious though." He smiles at me.

"Guys? Guys don't pay attention to me at this school, unless you consider Earl a guy, I find him a specimen, a disgusting, annoying…" I am beginning to rant on about someone I loathe entirely.

Troy finds the perfect way to shut me up – he crashes his lips against mine and I find myself consumed in him. My hatred towards Earl completely vanishes.

"Excuse me?" I hear someone growl at us.

I feel Troy's lips break away from mine – the comfort leaving me in a sad state. The completion seems to die off and we completely forgot we were in the school's lunch line.

"I just can't get enough of you." He whispers from the side as both of us put hamburgers on our plates.

I can't help but feel a genuine sincerity from his statement, and the way he says it – so soft, so sexy. The desire and the want seem to increase every time he speaks.

We head back towards our lunch table and begin to devour the hamburgers in front of us.

"Mm, once again, very good choice, Bolton." I tell him, as I enjoy the hamburger's delicious taste.

He just looks elated that I would say such a thing.

"Do you think we upset everyone in line?" I ask, half-humorous.

"I think they can deal with it." Troy just grins at me. "Don't worry about what people think, Gabriella. We are two very attractive people; it's hard for them not to be jealous."

I laugh at him.

We talk amongst each other during lunch about simple things. He says the same, sweet, original lines that I have never heard before. They always seem to get me, they make my heart beat faster, and they make me sickeningly more infatuated with him. He never notices that everybody else watches him, glued to him, astonished by him. His eyes are always on me. And I have no idea why.

He's one in a million if that says anything.

Before we depart for the rest of the day, he just kisses me – he kisses me with that same indignation from earlier. I can feel the fire blazing inside of me, the energy rushing throughout my veins and coming straight to my heart. We can't unleash ourselves from each other's grip. We don't want to. It's like an addiction.

And then we let go.

"I'll call you tonight." He promises me – and I know something is starting between us.

Some kind of affinity has begun already. I am frightened yet completely overjoyed about watching it develop, if it shall.

Whenever we touch, I find myself floating, in some different universe, in space, possibly. And I feel the connection – the reflective look in his eyes, the tight grip he has when he holds my hands, it all adds up to something larger than life, something that overpowers any other feeling I have ever felt.

How so fast? How so strong? How?

I walk to my locker after school, wanting to just leave, go to sleep, and it become a new day. My grades are still superior, of course, and studying is not a necessity. I find myself unraveling my combination when I feel a presence from behind me – a presence I do not want near me.

"Gabriella, hmm… you really think you got Troy wrapped around your finger, don't you?" It is Miley – one of Sharpay's cronies, one of _them_. I did not feel like hearing any of this.

"Stop this, I have done nothing to you, and how Troy feels about me is my business, not yours." I inform her, harshly as I attempt to walk away from her, slightly brushing against her in a rather angry way.

"You know, there's a reason, Gabriella, there's a reason no one likes you except for Troy and the people he pays to be your friends."

I turn back to her, enraged at her comment, "He does not _pay_ them, if you must know, but than again, how is that your business? Can't you just stay out of it? And I did nothing to you, you all have no reason."

"_Yes_ we do. You're a fucking low life. There are more reasons to why you're a low life – it's not just because you're poor and because you live in a trailer park. You remember what happened with Eric." She glares at me, her long, fake-looking nails placed on her hips, conceitedly.

"I am _not_ a low life, please stop saying that." I lash out at her, unable to hide that it hurt me.

"And I remember he pretended to like me to find out things about me." I turn away from her – the horrifying memory killing me.

"No, Earl told us what happened with you and Eric, the night when you found out…" Miley's eyes wince in aggravation as reality hits me.

"You have got to be kidding me… you think that _I_ did that? Are you kidding me?" Turbulence swept over me, instantly. "That was Earl and his group of friends – I tried to stop them… I…."

Tears approach my eyes as I see the vague memory in the back of my mind. I don't let Miley see as I try to remove the thoughts.

"I only told them they were being idiotic. I only tried…"

"Yeah, well, that doesn't seem very believable now, does it? You were mad at him; it would make perfect sense why you would hurt him. Why would Earl hurt him? You're a lunatic, Gabriella, you're a sicko, you're fucking _whack_." Miley snaps at me, "You're a murderer."

The words burn me.

I swiftly turn around and yell at her as she walks away, "I didn't; I did not!"

"Well, maybe you should explain to Troy that, before he finds out you _did_." She mutters, her shadow beginning to fade.

I watch her, the tears falling down my eyes. I did not murder him, I did not.

It was a scar from the past – it may have been slightly my fault… but I am not the one who sent him to his death, I am not the devil who did such a disgusting, atrocious thing.

Suddenly, I wish to disappear, to leave the world, to forget my past, to be invincible. Why did all of that have to happen? Why did they even remember that? Sure, Eric's death was a big deal, and it was one thing I will always remember… however, I try not to think about it too much. It only causes this pain.

Remorse, agony, sadness. He did not deserve to die so young.

* * *

"_No, don't." I cry, hoping they would not._

_They ignore me, shaking their heads, all together. _

_Eric's pale blue eyes are filled with fear and angst. Tears are profound in his eyes – I become afraid of what may happen next. _

"_Take me if you have to – not him." I beg them, not wanting him to have to suffer because he was in my neighborhood. _

_He may have deceived me, he may have hurt me, but he did not deserve death to be his punishment._

_My life is lousy, my life is pointless. They can take me without having any regret._

"_Oh, well then…" Earl's smirk widens as he steps towards me, licking his lips, desirously. _

"_No, no, don't mess with her, seriously, touch her… and…I will…" Eric is out of breath but his yelling angers one of Earl's men._

"_Shut up, you piece of shit." One of them says, kicking him where it will hurt._

_I gasp, "No…" I wail, "Don't."_

"_You aren't gonna do anything to me, are you?" Eric breathes, "If that's all you're gonna do… then you guys are just a bunch of pansies…" _

_My eyes close in terror as I hear a loud gun shot surge through the neighborhood. _

_Everything becomes silent as I carefully open my eyes. He's on the ground – I can only see blood and his eyes are still open – he's just staring into the distance, those pale blue eyes are still filled with apprehension._

_I begin to cry, and I cannot stop._

_Earl's group vanishes quickly, leaving no trace of evidence._

_And then suddenly, my eyes flicker back to Eric's pale blue eyes again – they are replaced with ocean blue eyes. I am looking at a dead Troy Bolton._

_

* * *

_

"N-no." I breathe, as I jump up from my bed. A dream. I suddenly realize why Troy is in such danger when he hangs out with me. 


	16. Chapter Sixteen: Start of Something New

I cannot sleep at all. The nightmares seem to keep me awake. I must be losing my mind, thinking that I could lose Troy the same way I lost Eric. I didn't like to think about it. I didn't like to remember it. I have not even thought about it since then. I want to obscure it into my memories. I want to dig it so deep that I never have to be reminded of it again. The image alone comes back to me and haunts me. Nagging azure colored eyes and the faint smell of blood takes me back to unpleasant times. I did not want to go there.

I wake up the next morning in a cold sweat. I feel nauseated and fatigued since I kept waking up in the middle of the night. I can still see his eyes in my dreams. I can still see the way he painfully looked to me as Earl pulled that trigger. I can still feel the void in my heart, the humongous gap that throbs at the thought of all of this. Everything is like fresh paint to me, a brand new cut seeping into my skin. The scar is uncovered; it has never been mended.

My mother sits on the couch, watching the news, her steaming cup of coffee placed in front of her. She looks tired, her eyes not fully widened just yet.

I make myself breakfast and jump into a lukewarm shower. After allowing the water to ease my mind a bit, I get out, letting my hair air dry as I throw on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved cerulean shirt. I glance at my hair; short, stiff, unmovable. I groan.

Why is Troy interested in _me_? I look at myself and wonder. I don't even wear makeup usually – just a dash of sterling-colored eye shadow and some mascara. I brush out my hair, and it seems to spiral into messy ebony-colored curls on its own. I'm never satisfied, but I grab my bag from my room and head towards the living-room.

I give my mom a kiss on the cheek before heading out, uttering a "Goodbye mama". Usually she took me to school, but today I had the urge to walk. I'm not sure what it was – the instant freedom I felt after walking out of that ghastly trailer, or just the simple thought of not relying on someone for once. I am sick of relying on everybody. I wanted to do everything on my own. I wanted some independence.

The heat makes my hair frizzy and I try to ignore how sweltering it is outside. Finally, I arrive at East High. Everything is still the same – the cliques seem to gather up together. In East High, the cliques are different though. The football players seem to group together, while the basketball players form an entirely different group on the opposite side of the school. The cheerleaders go out with the football players and most of them consist of airheads like Sharpay. As for the basketball players, well, it seems to not matter with them. They can get anyone. They are like superstars in this school. Everybody knows who they are.

I walk to my locker. I never really described to you what the hallways are like here. Most consider schools to have dark, boundless hallways that have no light to them whatsoever. EH is different – windows are large, long, expensive. We have everything but obscurity in this school. It's sensational, really. I imagine at nighttime the school's a bit frightening but in the daylight, it's like a dream. The sun is always beaming in through the windows, embracing the hallways with its rays. The hallways are a mixture of red and white, and all over the walls are posters of our most successful basketball players. That's right; there are never any football players, they're always basketball players. So yes, if you are walking towards the cafeteria from upstairs, you'll see a gigantic imprint of Troy Bolton's face, along with Chad and Zeke's – our basketball celebrities.

I feel two arms wrap around my waist as I begin to get my books for class.

My heart stalls as I smile in pleasure as I feel him breathing into my ear, "How was your night last night?" He asks.

"Okay, I guess." I respond, sighing as I recalled the night's events.

"I'm sure _something_ interesting happened." He pressures, and I sense him grinning from behind me.

"You didn't eat, sleep, talk, do some homework, or watch some television, anything like that?"

I turn around to face him and he breaks his hands away from my waist. I feel a sudden aloof breeze without his beautiful touch.

"Well, I never found any of that interesting." I chuckle softly as a smile plays on his lips, "What did you do?"

"Well, let's see…" He breathes in dramatically as if there is so much to tell, his lip curves thoughtfully and his eyes look abroad as he breaks our eye contact, "I had basketball practice, went to Chad's and played some more basketball, came home and watched TV, fell asleep on the couch, got rudely awoken by my dad who told me dinner was ready, ate some _amazing_ pizza, went to my room, played some video games, and fell asleep."

I enjoy watching his facial expressions during his in depth explanation. "Interesting, I know."

"Very, now instead of playing mindless video games you could have been studying." I lecture him jokingly as he throws me a fake look of hurt as we head towards my first hour.

"I ate breakfast this morning, at home, just for you." He adds in, extending his arm around my waist as we continue walking – it seems befitting; we seem as one as we walk.

"Aw, that's so nice of you." I'm not sure whether I'm kidding or not.

I notice he's wearing a shirt that has red sleeves and the rest is white – it hugs his muscular body very well. His jeans are always accommodated to his backside. Getting over how symmetrical he is, it's something I can never do.

We halt at my first hour as usual. This is routine now, as of always. Students scan us with their eyes filled with jealousy and confusion, but we never let them stop us. He turns himself around and I find myself lost in seas of blue that I can't resist even if I want to. My stomach churns anxiously as he allows our fingers to intertwine and pulls me in for a kiss on the lips. His lips are enslaving. I find myself attached, feeling the suave satisfaction of his tongue searching through my mouth.

I sigh, amazed at the emotions of endless want and desire that eat us both up. Like a drug to both of us, we can't break away. I'm lost in his perfection. Blocking out the gossiping people behind us and the ring of the bell, I'm giving into him more and more. Suddenly, it's as if all my walls have fallen down – as if I'm head first on the floor. I can't back down, I can't stay away now. Every kiss makes me want him so much more.

He culminates the kiss and moves away, the blue in his eyes putting me in a day dream. He gives me a subtle wink before he walks off, heading towards his own first hour.

Every day, my heart falls farther and faster.

* * *

"Gabriella?" My eyes fly open and I can't ignore the negligible snickers I hear from the back of the classroom.

"… Yes, Mrs. Porter?" I can't hide the embarrassment; the color appears on my cheeks. I may have been spacing out a bit.

"What is the answer to number four?" Her cobalt-colored eyes narrow as my eyes look over the smart board, my brain searching for answers.

"Auspicious." I finally respond, confident in my own answer.

"Correct." She seems hesitant towards showing appreciation towards me, so instead, she continues with the next answer.

Others glare at me, angry that I can space out completely and still answer a problem efficiently.

I forget to worry about what others think of me. I think of a time when I did. I vaguely remember when popularity actually meant something to me. Why do people worry about their reputation? It only destroys them in the end. It's funny to think that Sharpay and I were once friends – that once upon a time we actually had civilized conversations with each other. I'm still trying to understand everything better. They must all think that I am the one who shot the trigger. I did not. I had no say so in the matter. I tried to stand in the way, Earl only disregarded me.

He must have lied to them; he must have told them _I_ did it. Why does he dislike me so much? Why is it me that he wants to pick on? When did I deserve this cruelty? Is it simple thirst that makes him do these things? Is that why he hurt Eric, to prohibit Eric and me from having a relationship? I begin to worry more and more about Troy. Earl can't touch him, he can't lay a finger. Troy is much stronger.

After third hour, I find myself sitting across from Troy in the cafeteria, as usual. He's feasting on a killer sub sandwich while I sit and think about everything. I have no appetite.

"So, Gabriella," He starts up a conversation, unable to deal with the impeccable silence, "You know, I think I'm slipping in math." He doesn't bother chewing his food before saying this.

"Your grades? Troy, I'm sure they're fine." I raise an eyebrow – from my knowledge, he is a brainiac, and why he needs help with his grades befuddles me.

"Not really, I think I need a _tutor_." He emphasizes the words as a suggestive grin appears on his face.

I have to stop myself from losing breaths.

"That's ridiculous, you're a genius."

"I'm sure there's some quick-witted, beautiful girl who can tutor me tonight after school." Troy's voice is now getting persuasive and I can tell he's only hinting something.

A smile appears on his lips as his eyes never move away from my face.

"Quick-witted, yes, beautiful, I'm not so sure." I break my gaze away from him.

"I'm pretty sure." Troy cuts in, rigidly, "Pizza, television, me, studying, sound good?"

Does he have to make it sound so simple when really being with him is like being inside a fairytale?

"When you present yourself as one of the activities…" My eyes playfully linger on him as I chuckle quietly.

"I _guess_ I could tutor you, but don't you have basketball practice or something?"

"Nah, my dad wants us to take a break. We've been practicing like crazy lately. If keep this up, we're going to be so sore we won't be able to play in the tournament." He bites his bottom lip, absentmindedly, "So that's a yes?"

"I'd be delighted." I confess, shyly, as a smile breaks passed my lips.

"Great, now I won't fail math." He grins at me, cheekily, as I roll my eyes.

"Oh, please, Troy."

"Please, what?" He asks, as the bell rings.

Students seem to clamor up into immeasurable groups, heading off towards their classes. We are a bit delayed as I begin to scoop up my books and Troy throws away his plastic tray.

"So I'll meet you at your locker at the end of the day?" He suggests, as we walk out of the cafeteria.

"Sounds good." I tell him, as he gives me a heart-melting smile.

"Did I mention how I love your hair today, it looks great, Gabriella." He compliments as we head towards my third hour.

"You must be kidding – the heat completely destroyed it!" I shriek, astonished at his ignorance towards my flaws.

He lines himself up against some kid's locker and stares into my eyes, dazed, maybe even thoughtful; I can't describe the look in his eyes.

"Yeah, the heat totally whipped up my hair too." He grins, winking at me.

I open my mouth, unable of finding the words to say, so instead, I close my mouth and push him lightly, "I'm serious, you are very oblivious to the obvious."

"Are you sure _I'm_ the oblivious one? Maybe you just don't realize how attractive you are." He suggests, shrugging his broad shoulders as he gives me a tantalizing smile.

"Maybe _you_ don't." I challenge, folding my arms.

"Me? Ha, that's funny Gabriella." He laughs, as if I just said the funniest thing ever.

"Are you calling yourself unattractive?" I stare at him, shocked.

He just chuckles, as he clamps the side of his lip, "Nope, not really." He moves closer to me, a look of concentration evident in his eyes. "I'm just a guy."

"You're a really great guy." I mutter, as my ability to talk suddenly weakens.

He doesn't have a response, instead he brushes his lips against my own and as that wave of adrenaline kicks through me, he moves away, the feel of his lips still prominent on my own.

"I'll see you later, El."

The nickname gives him more strength over me as I watch him leave, the uneasiness never leaving me. My hearts still beating fast, as if he is standing right next to me still. I feel as if I'm going up and down a rollercoaster, the endless bundles of stamina never ceasing. I'm at the top; the high point, and now I'm just falling.

* * *

The day will always go by slower when you want it to go by fast. It seems time is only cruel when you want it to be lenient. How convenient.

Curious as I am, I begin to wonder what tonight will bring. I wonder what it will be like to take a glimpse into Troy's life, his home. I suddenly realize he probably lives in a nice house. He probably has a swimming pool, a hot tub, maybe air conditioning – well, definitely air conditioning. His living-room must have some space, bigger than a bathroom, I'd guess. He does wear fashionable clothes, and his car is rather glamorous. I can only assume his house is rather flashy.

It isn't long before I am almost jumping out of my pants anxious as I head towards my locker after last hour.

He's there, of course, and he seems elated – his eyes are ocean-blue with animation. Returning a smile, I gather up my things and tuck them on one side. His hand becomes equipped behind my back as we head out the doors, as if he's leading me towards something.

Meeting the blistering heat, the sun comes into our eyes. I feel my eyesight being blinded and I see Troy squinting from next to me. He looks abnormally exemplary in the sunlight; no blemishes or marks, just unmarred features that look beautiful with every smile and every wink. I'll be darned.

He leads me to his wonderful car, opening the passenger's door for me, politely. I give him a smile and thanks as I slide into the seat. He heads to the opposite side, sliding into the driver's seat. He starts up the ignition, and we find ourselves driving down the road in less than a second.

He puts on a pair of sunglasses that were located in his glove box; they only enunciate him much further, if that's even possible. He looks rather cool and collected as he flicks his hair out of his eyes and turns down an unfamiliar street.

I instantly realize the bizarreness of his street being very close to my own though. The street has completely different houses and the roofs seem more extravagant, along with the plant life and the sizes, but if I wanted to, I could walk to his house in no time.

"Your house isn't far off from my own." I mention, as he pulls up to a driveway that seems rather immense – I realize there are two garages.

"I've noticed that. Sneak over sometime." He invites a half-smile on his face as he clicks a switch to open the garage door.

In pure jealousy, I watch as it smoothly slides up and he drives his gorgeous ride into the garage. He takes off his sunglasses, unlocks my door and his own, and gets out of the car.

I get out before he can come and open my door for me. He makes a slight pouting face but I don't make a comment as he opens his front door. My eyes widen at the sight of his living room. I did not have a very long view of the exterior, but it looked fabulous at its best.

The interior only makes it much better. The rooms are hardly divided – the living room is basically connected to the kitchen. He leads me directly into the kitchen; wooden cabinets that look brand new, expensive wooden tiles that shimmer from the window's aurora, antique glasses and pots that seem ancient yet very pricey, and countertops that shine with sanitary.

I take in an aroma of pine as I watch Troy throw himself onto the counter, as if there weren't bar stools or tables anywhere near him.

"Something to drink?" He asks, generously.

"Hm, okay." I plop down on a rather comfortable bar stool, my eyes on Troy.

"Surprise me."

After a second of pondering, Troy jumps down from the counter and swings open the refrigerator door. He hands me a Dr. Pepper, my favorite soda.

"How did you know?" I inquire, unable to hide my surprise.

"I didn't; you seem like a Dr. Pepper girl." He shrugs, heedlessly, as he gets out a bottle of water and undoes the cap, jumping back onto the counter.

I don't know why – but he looks even better on that counter.

Gosh, darn.

"Do you have a pool?" I ask, positive he does.

"Outside, by the basketball court." He points, as if directing me towards it.

My eyes follow his finger and I notice a glass sliding door – beyond it is a basketball court where I'm guessing Troy spends most of his time at. To the far right, I notice something out of the ordinary – a hammock. Interested, I continue searching, and to the far left of the yard, there's the swimming pool – perfectly clean.

"Wow." I breathe; the house is extraordinary. "Your house is beautiful."

"Thanks…" He looks uncomfortable for a second, than lifts himself down from the counter, "We'll study in my room."

The terms "my room'" only makes my heart skip a beat. I sharply inhale and nervously find myself following him. He leads me towards a small hallway nearby the kitchen.

We enter his room and the first thing I notice is basketball trophies. He has a small cabinet that seems to have many on them, from a school he went to before EH. I find myself captivated by his room. He has a few jerseys hanging on his walls. His bed looks atypically commodious. I just want to jump on it and sleep, forever. His bed cover, comforter, is a maroon red. Parallel to his bed sits a desk, a dresser, a few books lying here and there. He notices my wandering eyes and doesn't say anything as he lays his bag on the desk.

"Your bed looks… amazing." I mumble, sitting down on it.

I feel myself crash back on it, instantly, enjoying it's warmth. I feel Troy's eyes on me, diverted by my sudden fondness for his bed.

"Hey, you're gonna have to share; that is _my_ bed." Before I can blink, I find Troy Bolton to the right of me, and I find myself looking into his eyes – unable to look back.

His hair looks messy, his expression incisive. He gives me a smile, and than I feel him move closer to me, both of us turned towards each other. I feel him breathing on me as our noses are practically touching. My soul is soaring, but he can't tell that.

Encountering me, his lips press onto mine, and the passion rises. I'm melting into him as I suddenly sit up, and I find myself straddling him. Am I usually so sensuous? No. I'm on top of him and I kiss his lips, the intensity of our chemistry setting me on fire. I can feel his heart beating excruciatingly fast, as does mine. He seems pleased by my sudden take over. I'm so lost in him, in his touch, in his taste, in his lust…

Words are pointless now. The energy, it just keeps coming. Our breathing is now equalized, we are breathing in the same measures. The room seems extremely hot all of a sudden. The moment seems like it could last forever, and I would not mind.

"…Troy." I suddenly stop, breaking the boundless flare between us. I'm still on top of him.

His eyes are open, they were closed before.

He's laying on his bed as I stare down at him, "What's wrong, El?" He seems concerned.

"We haven't studied…" I give him a scolding glance. I may be taking these types of things too seriously, but I can't let him get a bad grade in math!

"Gabriella…" His eyes mellow and he sits up a bit, his fingertips trailing up and down my arms, my stomach churning with lovesick butterflies from his very touch.

"What if I lied?" His gaze is too fixed on the trail he is making to look into my eyes. "My grades are fine… I just wanted an excuse to get alone with you." A smile appears on his face as he lifts his beautiful eyes up.

"Excuse? You don't need an excuse…" I furrow my eyebrows. "You could have just asked, and are you sure? I don't want you to get a bad grade in math…"

"Gabriella, don't worry." His smile can make anyone's day, I'll bet you.

"Okay." I give in; I'm such a fool for him.

Silence is the response to this. He continues his trail across my arms, leaving me to go into hysterics, and sending millions of emotions throughout me. His eyes don't leave mine and for a second I feel like the space between our lips must be met. However, the moment of thought is interrupted by a knock at the door.

Troy's expression changes and he bites his bottom lip so hard, I'm shocked it did not bleed.

"Yeah?" I look at him, confused on who is at his bedroom door.

As if answering my thoughts, someone opens the door. My eyes shift to a rather bulky man, not exactly heavy-weight, but rather big muscled. He's tall, but not too tall. His eyes are a bright blue, ocean-colored like Troy's. His features are hard, callous. He's the type of man who may scare you when he's angry. From the look of him, however, I soon notice it's only Troy's father, Jack Bolton, the coach for the basketball team, and a gym teacher.

His eyes fall to Troy first, and then to me. He looks me over, thoroughly, as if judging me, and I suddenly feel a bit apprehensive.

He breaks his gaze away though, and then looks back to Troy, "Hey, I just got back from that new Mexican place. The food's pretty good, I got you some. And, is this that girl you've been talking about, Gabriella is it?"

I watch Troy's face turn from emotionless to suddenly a bit embarrassed, his cheeks had some color to them also. That never happens.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Bolton." I give him my sweetest smile, though I'm sure he's already made up his mind about me.

My clothes are average, a bit over worn, my hair mangled, he is sure to assume I'm a lowlife.

But Mr. Bolton just smiles back, his wrinkles becoming more noticeable among his sandy cheeks, "Ah, nice to meet you too. Heck, you should've seen Troy's face when you called him the other day and wanted to hang out – I've never seen my boy become that excited… or well, blush in general." He winks at me, as if to prove that he accepts me.

I just chuckle and look at Troy, who is refusing to look at either of us.

"Dad…" His voice sounds annoyed and I can't help but giggle lightly, "Come on…"

"Alright, I'll leave you kids alone. Feel free to make yourself at home though – I'm sure Troy can share some tacos, eh, Troy?" Mr. Bolton's eyes flicker to Troy one final time; Troy doesn't look back, still looking away.

"Thank you." I give him a thankful smile as he nods, closing the door behind him.

"My dad… sorry about him, he's kind of… too honest." Troy, who was slightly hiding behind his pillow, suddenly became unhidden, his blue eyes full with apology.

I roll my eyes and smile at him, pushing him lightly. "Blushing, huh?"

"Gabriella, that's totally not cool… I don't…"

"Oh, but that's not what your father said." I smile at him, cheekily, and he rolls his eyes in irritation.

"Yeah, alright, okay. Only because I'm crazy about you, alright? It's not like you're anything special or anything." His irritation disappears as he jokes around, biting his bottom lip with arrogance.

"Oh, nothing like that at all?" I ask grabbing the pillow he was hiding behind.

"El, you really shouldn't do that, those pillows are kind of expensive…"

Wack – I hear a slight muffle but I can't make out what he says.

"Roy, you shouldn't blush so much."

He begins to smack me with his pillow as a response. "Don't call me that." He scolds, almost seriously.

His pillow is practically suffocating me, and he suddenly pulls it away, his eyes landing on mine. I'm facing him, lying down on the bed.

"I surrender, Troy, just don't hit me anymore!" I cry, smiling at him.

He gives me a look of thought, rubbing his index finger in a line against his lips, as if pondering,

"Maybe… if you don't call me Roy, ever again."

"Okay, promise." I seal the promise with a kiss on his lips, the delight within me growing immensely. 


	17. Chapter Seventeen: Keeping My Sanity

Troy and I have been just lying on his bed for the passed half hour. I'm staring at him, directly, but that's only because I can't break the gaze. My head is cropped onto one of his pillows. His eyes are facing me also, lying right next to me, oceans permeated with fascination.

"That Mexican food sounded pretty good, El." He says, extending a hand out to swipe an ebony strand out of my eye.

"I love Mexican food." I breathe, closing my eyes at his tender touch.

"Shall we?" He suggests, sitting up.

I nod with a genuine smile, getting up from his bed.

I follow him into the kitchen, the abrupt smell of fajitas filling my nostrils. I have to stop myself from thrusting towards the food. I am a humongous Mexican food junky. Yes, I am aware that most people don't use junky as the term, but I can't think of anything else.

Troy, in all his glory and pride, launches himself up on the counter, as if he has no manners whatsoever, and begins picking tacos from the bag, shooting them onto a plate. The only reason I am not disgusted by this is because well, this is Troy. It seems he can do anything and make it inviting.

I'm positive he has completely forgotten of my existence.

Mr. Bolton notices us from the living-room, and heads into the kitchen, giving me a amiable smile as he notices his son's pig-like behavior, "Ah, had he been a dog, I would've said, 'down boy'." He smirks at me and I just giggle, realizing Troy does not even hear him.

To this, Jack eyes Troy, "Son, don't you think it'd be nice if you let Gabriella have some?"

Troy, in the process of throwing about two quesadillas onto his plate, turns his head towards his father and me, and does a complete 360.

His eyes grow a bit wide and he jumps off the table, handing me a plate, "Sorry, El."

This nickname is becoming routine, can't you tell?

"_Troy_, I didn't raise a son who doesn't get a ladies' food for her." Jack narrows his eyes at his suddenly oblivious son.

I smile, "Oh, it's quite fine, Mr. Bolton." I'm beginning to like Troy's father already.

Troy realizes his mistake and gives me a look that makes it _all_ better. I can't explain it, the way his lips curve into a smile and then slowly depart, licking his top lip subtly.

I lose my ability to breathe as he takes the plate away from my hands, "Quesadilla, tacos, fajita?"

"All three, thank you." I grin at him widely as he gives me an atypical look, and then quickly fills my plate with all of the following.

"You sure can eat, can't you?" He jokes.

Jack stands behind us, watching us, an amused expression on his face. I feel hospitality from him and do not feel the least bit uncomfortable by him. His arms are folded.

"Dad, you don't have to spy on us, we're not going to eat all the fajitas." Troy promises, looping his arm around my waist as he leads me into the living-room.

Jack chuckles, "Oh, you better not! You know I love my fajitas."

I smile, unable to hide my beguilement.

Troy puts his plate onto the coffee table in front of television, prompting me to sit next to him. I follow his gesture and he grabs the remote, turning on the television.

"So, what shall it be, MTV?" He suggests, his eyes encountering me as I take a huge bite of the _amazing_ quesadilla on my plate.

I stop myself from moaning in pleasure, "Okay."

To our surprise, the show, _Parental Control_ is on.

Troy begins butchering his fajita, and I can't help but smile.

My eyes flicker to the television - a rather corpulent young boy must go on a date with two girls that are rather attractive compared to his current girlfriend. The parents are making this a must.

"So, who do you think he'll pick?" Troy asks, nonchalantly, his mouth full.

Yes, I've noticed he has good manners, also.

"Hm . . . definitely the girl with dark hair." I point out one of the girls - natural and decent-looking.

The boy would have to be insane to choose those fake girls over her. She seems innocent.

"Yeah, she's hot." Troy comments, his eyes facing me with challenge.

I roll my eyes, "The other girls wear too much make up."

"I know you can't even see their eye color." Troy shudders, and I just giggle.

He bites his bottom lip roughly and then meets my eyes again, "I like a natural girl."

I smile at him, feeling butterflies at the pit of my stomach. My stomach is churning like I'm on a roller coaster that goes upside down one million times. At times like these, I feel like I'm about to throw up, I'm so anxious to push myself onto him again. God, my sudden cravings for him seem unnatural.

We both pull our eyes back to the television screen, finishing up our dinners.

"Oh, you know . . . come to think of it, something else exciting happened to me yesterday."

Troy's face falls into a smile again; his eyes wandering back to me. Irregularly, he props one of his feet up, only so I can see, "I got new shoes."

My eyes look down at them in diversity. And, suddenly, I cannot stop laughing. I'm not even kidding. My eyes are practically watering. I have to hold my stomach. Troy looks _hurt_. I'm not kidding; he looks insulted, like I just called him a bad name. This sends me into more tears and laughs. I can't even breathe now.

"Gabriella, what's so funny?" He's so cute - completely clueless and all.

"Troy . . ." I gasp out, still trying to keep myself from laughing more, "They look _exactly_ the same as your other one's."

They are practically identical. He always wears checkered vans, and it seems this pair did not differ from the last.

His eyebrows knot together in ridicule, "Gabriella, they are not. They actually have blue in them, the others had black. I can't believe you would think such a thing." I am still trying to suppress laughter, now he's taking this as if I'm insulting him.

"Troy, they are shoes."

"_Shoes_ tell a lot about a guy." Troy narrows his eyebrows, still looking hurt.

"Oh, do they now?" I ask, a smile playing across my lips.

"Very much . . ." Troy's eyes fall to his dad, who is in the other room, helping himself to some food.

"Hey, dad, isn't it true that shoes tell a lot about a person?"

Jack, unable to hear Troy from the other room, stumbles in, a plate of fajitas in his hands, "What'd you say?"

"Shoes . . . Gabriella doesn't think they have any significance."

"Well, of course they do!" Jack exclaims, his eyes meeting me. I look back to Troy who is just nodding. "Say, a man wears dirty shoes . . . it only says two things; lazy and unorganized."

"_Exactly_, and someone who wears shoes for too long . . ." Troy begins, looking to his dad, "_Dirty_!" Troy grins, as if he has just done something good. "However, your shoes also signify that you're very organized, a perfectionist, and a genius."

He cracks a smile, making his first statement not seem so . . . mean?

Jack just smiles, amused by the situation, "Yes, all shoes have a meaning."

Two of a kind, maybe? Their blue eyes are even sparkling in unison. This is becoming very awkward. However, I can't stop smiling.

"What do _your_ shoes signify, Troy?" I look to him, truculently.

He looks away for a second, and then meets my eyes, "Well, that I'm unique, totally cool, and have an impeccable style."

So conceited, yet his charming smile seems to make it okay. "I think someone like me would work well with someone like you, you know?" His grin tickles my ears as his father walks out of the room.

I giggle hysterically as his lips tickle my ear. The indescribable butterflies come back and I am higher than anyone on earth, I feel.

I beg him to stop, my abdomen suddenly hurting from the constant laughing. "Troy . . ." I breathe, uncontrollably smiling, "Stop. Please!"

He finally moves away, his eyes on me, setting off an essence inside of me that I can't begin to explain. I feel the loss of self-control and the feeling of pure . . . something; it's so innocent and wonderful, I'm melting into him with every second.

"Now, we kind of missed half of our show, thanks to you."

"Thanks to _me_? You were going on about pointless shoe descriptions!" I shriek, pointing at him accusingly.

"_Pointless_? Gabriella, do you even understand how much these were worth?"

Before I know it, I can't even restrain myself. I feel my entire body lunge at him, and I find myself on top of him again, except this time, on his couch. He seems in shock, but his lips are dancing with a smile of endearment. I'm dispersing from it. I'm caving in, and I feel my own want and need as I clasp my lips onto his. Crazy, I am the good girl, the _good_ girl.

I want to be lost in his kiss again, and again.

Addicted to the feel, I feel him sinking too, he's captivated now. His hands are restless at my hair, his fingertips punctuating my heart's speed. I feel as if I am on fire, as if I must make him feel my flames, I must show him what I'm feeling. I must make him feel my want, my attachment to him. He has to see how amazing he is to me, how beautiful it is to have someone as wonderful as him in my life.

Gently, I pull out, curious to his response.

He's still smiling, slightly dazed.

He seems incredibly tender, and his eyes are so permissive, "Crazy wildcat." He says, shaking his head.

"What have we turned you into?" He tilts his head, his hair moving out of his face.

Foolishly, his voice seems like a song to me, a beautiful melody.

I force myself off of him, feeling rather exposed at such close contact. I am a virgin, I am a saint, and I don't do these types of things. With him, I just feel an eagerness I must explore though. It feels right being in such a vulnerable state. He makes everything feel perfect.

I just . . . became unafraid.

"El," He gets on his feet, noticing my sudden change of attitude as I get off of him, standing up.

My eyes are on the floor and he plants a firm kiss on my cheek, his lips lingering by my ear, "its okay."

"I feel so much." I whisper, and I suddenly feel so weak, so susceptible.

I hate the feeling, it reminds me of the past, not being able to defend myself. With Troy, I can hardly even go a second without touching him now. I am broken into him. How can I ever find enough strength to back away?

"Me too," He coos, the words easing me out of my mind entirely.

His closeness to me still is sending me into hysterics, "El, I've never been this close to any girl. It's like; I fall for you more every day." His lips find their way to the top of my head.

And everything seems still, pleasant. The air seems _faultless._

"It's happening so fast." I look away from his eyes as I feel them boring into me as he moves away from my face.

"I know, every day, I wanna be with you . . . it's . . . crazy." He runs his hands through his hair in a rather nervous way, and then locks his eyes onto mine.

It's not long before he pushes his lips against mine, in confirmation that we share the same chemistry.

It's some kind of relief; this kiss seems different than any other. It's like we're breaking free of every single problem in the world, all of its worries. All that matters is that we're here together, that we can depend on each other. It's almost as if we are the only ones in the world, as if everybody else has been left behind. It's like that doesn't even matter, either. It's the start of something beautiful; something frighteningly beautiful.

He moves away and my eyes glance out the window, realizing it is almost dark.

Feeling disappointment and a sudden bleakness, I bite my bottom lip, my eyes looking up to him, "I should be getting home soon."

"Yeah, I guess it's getting late." He notices, now his eyes meeting the sunset outside.

I can't deny that the skies look extraordinary, they seem to light up Troy's entire house, conquering its radiance.

Troy leads me into the kitchen, "Dad, I'm gonna take Gabriella home, I'll be back in about ten minutes." He tells his father, who is now occupying himself with a magazine.

The magazine seems to have a bunch of NBA basketball players; I can only imagine what's inside.

Jack's eyes break away from the magazine and they land on us, "Alright. Well, it was nice meeting you Gabriella." He gives me a friendly smile.

I return the smile, "You also, Mr. Bolton."

Troy gives his father a forced smile, and then I feel his arm lightly touching my back, directing me towards the door.

He grabs his keys off of the counter, and I drag my rather heavy book bag with me, "God, El, need any more books in there?"

I grin at him, "I have to keep my grades up somehow, Mr. Bolton."

"You call my dad Mr. Bolton, _please_ don't call me that." He begs, opening the passenger's seat for me.

I smile at him, appreciatively, and slide in.

"Okay, fine, but I'm still getting used to _El_."

"You'll learn to love it." He gives me a hasty wink before shutting the door and heading towards the driver's seat.

He starts up the ignition and pulls out of the exquisite garage that they have.

"Your house is so beautiful." I gush, dreamily, as we get on the main road.

"Yeah, I like it, but Gabriella, your house isn't _that_ bad, seriously." He tells me, and I can see his compassionate blue eyes in the darkness.

I do not respond. I look down to my feet. I know my house is nothing compared to his. His lifestyle seems so perfect, so wonderful. I can't help but feel some jealousy from it. He's very lucky.

"Well, I hope you learned a lot from our study get-together." I chuckle, realizing we did absolutely no studying.

He just smiles, "We're going to have to study together again, I mean, my grades will seriously stoop so low . . ."

"Troy shut up." I can't help but smile to myself.

"I'm serious, El, it's ridiculous, without another study date, I may just fail."

I realize we are now parked in front of my trailer. Troy's eyes are on me. He is wearing a godly smile that could light up the heavens if it wanted to. Still, he gets me weak every time.

"Well, okay, _only_ if you promise to let me swim in that fabulous pool some time." I give him expectant eyes, folding my arms.

"It's a deal." He grins in satisfaction as he leans over and gives me a kiss goodnight.

Our lips meet and I feel both of us smiling as we lean out.

"Goodnight Gabriella." His voice is still so melodic to me.

I don't believe I can ever get sick of him.

"I'll see you at school tomorrow." He leans his arm over, and opens the car door for me.

"Couldn't walk me up to the door?" I ask, raising an eyebrow at his lazy gesture.

He bites his bottom lip naughtily and his eyes seem to sparkle as he does this.

I feel my heart practically stopping as he swipes his hand across my face, affectionately, "I had a great time with you today."

"Me too." I can barely talk. "I don't think you realize . . . how much easier this is, with you around." I whisper, that gut feeling coming back to me.

He leans his forehead against mine, "I seriously will miss you, I mean, one month, and one second, it's like I'm wasting time I could have with you."

My pulse seems electrified, "You make my life, Troy."

"You make _my_ life, Gabriella." A smile creeps upon his face as he pulls me in for another deep, meaningful kiss.

All the walls are down, all my fears are destroyed, all my wants are in front of me, and all my feelings have been discovered. I am suddenly so mesmerized and so addicted to Troy Bolton that nothing else in the world seems to matter. I tremble inside as my eyes flash back to him and I get out of the car, the moment still replaying in my mind, his words still echoing, blocking out any other sound in the night.

I've known him for one month. Is it possible? I stare into the abyss as he drives away, my eyes loitering on the road. I am, by far, the most disliked person in East High. He is the most idolized, the most beautiful. Yet, I can somehow make his day. I can somehow make him smile. I'm the one who can kiss him without feeling guilty. I'm the one who can pounce on him and he simply just smiles and says, "Crazy wildcat." I still have the vision of that look he gave me after I kissed him. It had to be real, it had to be. His eyes, poignant and serious . . . he felt the vibe. He has to be amazed as I am, of this thunder that we cause when our lips collide, of this ecstasy that is present whenever we are together. It's almost impossible _not_ to notice. All my insecurity seems gone. I feel, well . . . attractive?

"Gabriella! Where have you been?" Mama races outside noticing that I am finally home.

Her eyes are filled with worry and concern as she looks me over.

"Mama, sorry, I was at Troy's, I guess I should have called . . ." Blank-out, I completely disregarded the fact that my mother may have been worried sick about me for not calling.

She had no idea where I was!

"That's no excuse, you should have! I was worried sick, and . . ." Her eyes trail off into the desert, a look of pain appearing in them, "your father came by."

She inhales deeply, "He wants to make the divorce final. He's going to move in with his coworker, I guess, but it'd be you and him on the weekends . . ."

"Mama, I . . ." The look of hurt on her face seems undeniable.

I feel such sorrow I can't explain it. She seems heartbroken, but I can't even explain the anger I am feeling for my father right now. I did not want to see him, ever again. He hurt my mother too much. She did not deserve this.

"I don't want to see him."

"Gabriella, that's not much of an option." She sighs, as if she does not want me with him either.

"I don't like the woman; distasteful, slutty . . . just his type, I guess." Tears are brimming in her eyes.

"He only has to go and make things worse, doesn't he? Gabriella, this weekend, you'll be staying with him and his new woman . . . just, do me a favor and act nice." Her eyes broke away, glancing at the sky.

"He's happy, so we've got to be happy."

At that moment, I realize something I have never realized before. My mother really did love my father, and I believe she still does. At least, she loves him enough to let him go. I can tell that was a battle for her. But my mother, she is such a strong, dignified woman. I can't help but feel vigorous about her. We've all been through so much, and she is like the rock. She's what holds this life of mine together. She keeps us from being homeless and from getting our trailer taken away. She keeps food on our table.

And Troy, he keeps my sanity. 


	18. Chapter Eighteen: On His Thread

I cannot help but notice the way that time has suddenly became a gift to my life. I live for the days and nights where I can feel a genuine comfort from someone who cares. I yearn for the moments where I walk to my locker and he's standing right there, just waiting for me. I crave for the endless kisses he gives me before we depart for first hour. I long for the very moment I can just get lost in his eyes and he can get lost in mine. I never really had a reason to wake up in the morning and go to school. Yes, grades always had me motivated . . .

This is something much different than grades though. It's different than getting an A on a quiz or doing extremely well on the final exam. It's almost better than seeing your name up there on the "Principal's Honor Roll".

It seems to be larger than life - it seems to be out of this universe. It's something you can't explain with actual words. It's one of the few things you cannot compare. You can't say love is like when you make a hoop in basketball . . . (great, now I'm talking like Troy). Love is something that is just in the air, it's just there when you're around that person. It's something beautiful that only you can feel. You feel it in all your senses - not just your heart. Love is unlike any event in life - when you are in love, everything becomes possible. The things that you used to laugh at and say, "I could never do that" are suddenly things you almost believe you can do. You start believing everything is possible, that you can accomplish anything. You can move mountains, you can grab the stars, and you can taste the rain. It's that hope, the hope that you obtain from that person; it makes you feel like you can do anything.

Troy appears from behind me. I'm not sure what kind of cologne he uses. He smells fantastic, all the time, and there is nothing more of a drug then just the basic smell of him. I know that sounds stupid. I think . . . Burberry that may be it. It is strong but nothing too much. With Troy, it's just a whiff, but you just want more and more.

It's Thursday morning and I can hear the loud echoes of students from behind us. I turn to face him - he's wearing a dark blue t-shirt that has small lines crossing each other in the middle. They are various colors. His hair is tossed to the side in all his perfection, and he wears blue jeans, the leather beige belt noticeable. The jean legs almost cover his vans, but I can see them. It brings a smile to my face.

"Morning." I greet him, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

I love the way his eyes seem to sparkle in delight after I do this.

"Morning, El," He gives me that heart-stopping smile, taking my books out of my hand as we begin to walk towards my first hour, as usual, "How was your night? Did you miss me?" He grins, then stops the pace, planting a kiss on my lips.

They linger on my own for about minute, fireworks continuously playing in my mind. He then backs away, a smile on his face, "I missed you that much."

"Oh, did you?" I ask, half-laughing.

I give him a rather challenging grin before stepping up on my tip toes and kissing his lips, the moment lingering longer this time.

I pull away, "Well, I missed you _that_ much."

"El, come on, there's no need to turn this into a competition." He chuckles as he pulls his arm back around my waist, "I missed you the absolute most."

I roll my eyes at his immaturity, "Oh come on Troy. What'd you do after I left?"

"I um . . ." He bites his bottom lip as if trying to remember, "I got yelled at for eating the rest of the fajitas."

I look at him, faking shock, "Troy, that is so mean! You know your dad liked those."

"Yeah, I know, I was hungry though." He pouts. "There was no need for yelling." His eyes move away from mine, now straight ahead.

"I have another game tomorrow, you better be there." I watch as his lips turn to a domineering grin.

"I guess I could make an appearance."

"You _guess_? Miss Montez, I'm afraid I cannot comply with you _guess_ . . ." He says in a fake English accent.

I feel his breath against my ear as he moves closer to me, jokingly tickling it with his lips. I begin to laugh, feeling the butterflies again.

"Hey, lover boy!" The moment's broken by Chad, who is advancing towards us.

Troy moves away from me, his arm still wrapped around my waist as he turns to face Chad, "Hey man, what's up?"

"Troy, Gabriella," Chad looks to both of us, "Not much."

I look up to Troy, confused on Chad actually acknowledging my presence. That never happens. Chad is usually ignorant to the fact that I even exist. I feel slightly awkward, Troy not looking back to me at all.

"Look, I didn't mean to interrupt anything . . . I was wondering if you've talked to Taylor." His eyes are focused on Troy, who I'm clinging to with a befuddled look.

"McKessie? Man, I don't really talk to her . . ." Troy admits, his eyes still facing Chad, "Gabriella does though." He mentions, now his eyes dropping to my level.

I blush, suddenly feeling as if I'm on the hot spot.

Chad doesn't fail to respond to this though, "Gabriella? Do you know why Tay's mad at me? Yesterday I was in the hallway with some girl . . . at first, I thought Tay might have gotten jealous, but I'm pretty sure she doesn't like me like that. She won't talk to me though . . . ."

I look at him, trying not to laugh. Is he so oblivious? Taylor has to be in love with him. It's clearly obvious to any other person that she has deep feelings for him.

"Chad, Taylor likes you." It is simple, possibly too much all at once, speaking with someone who abhors me, usually.

"Yeah, you didn't know that?" Even Troy seems perplexed on how Chad does not know.

And Troy has his slow moments.

"Does she, really?" Chad looks skeptical, but definitely anxious. I can tell that he wants it to be true.

"She's practically in love with you . . . that's why she was upset. Do you love her?"

It seems weird how I'm actually conversing with Chad, but something tells me he is really giving me a break. His eyes seem soft, and he doesn't seem to hold any fakeness in them.

"Love?" Chad's eyes widen and for a moment, he's quiet. " . . . I, I dunno. I didn't know she felt that way, I mean . . . yeah, I kind of do, but I had no idea. . ."

He's scratching his head and looking more uncomfortable by the moment.

"Well, tell her!" I exclaim, unable to watch my friend wonder if this boy that loves her truly does or not.

Chad's eyes fall to Troy who chuckles from beside me; he seems to be mocking me for some reason.

"What? Is it really that hard to tell a girl you love her? It's just a few words." I look to them both incredulously. "Don't be afraid; think of it as an opportunity for her to respond, to be with her."

"Ha ha . . ." Troy finds a gap in between us to fill, our bodies now extremely close. I feel his blue eyes on me, "Gabriella, it's not so easy for a guy to open up to a girl like that."

I'm shocked by his comment, "Are you serious? So just keep her waiting? That's ridiculous! And this comes from a boy who thinks shoes are important."

He becomes offended, pushing his arms out in defense, "Hey! They are important. And well, he shouldn't come on _too_ strong - no guy can come on too strong."

"Exactly," Chad supports, "I don't wanna freak her out, Gabriella."

"But she feels the same way!" I yelp, ignoring Troy's roll of eyes, "You two are such chickens, seriously, and you think you're cool because you're basketball players . . . it isn't that tough."

"She could reject me." Chad adds in.

Troy's laughing, "El, calm down - he'll just tell her he really likes her and not the other girl, it's not a big deal. I love you can come later down the road."

"I'm just saying . . . think of how Taylor feels." I mutter, folding my arms.

"I'll just tell her I really care about her or something . . . she's already mad at me. Thanks for the advice though, Gabriella." Chad's comment surprises me and he throws me a rather welcoming smile.

"I gotta get to class though - you two should also." He gives us both a smile, then heads towards his first hour.

Troy and I are alone in the hallway.

"That was . . . strange. How did you manage to get him to be nice to me?" I ask, as I watch Chad walk away, unable to hide my shock.

Troy's cerulean eyes find mine again, "It was no big deal . . . I just talked to him."

I give him a peculiar expression, raising an eyebrow as if I do not believe him.

He sighs, giving in, "Alright, you got me; it took a little while . . . I'll admit it."

He gives me a weak smile before pulling me into his grasp again. "Why were you so offended by him not telling Taylor that he loves her?"

I shrug, holding my books close to me as we approach the door to my first hour, "She doesn't deserve to wait any longer. She's waited forever."

"I know," His arm is still around my waist, "But El, it's really not that easy for a guy to confess his feelings. We don't wanna come off too strong, you know?"

"Too strong?" I gasp, turning to look him in the eyes, "Troy! She loves him."

He acts as if the pressure of my eyes are making him uncomfortable, he shifts them to the right, avoiding my gaze, "It's not that simple."

"Yes, it is . . ." I continue, furrowing my eyebrows. "Are us girls _that_ intimidating?"

Troy makes a face and then meets my eyes again, "Yeah, kind of. It's not like you're trying to be - we just get nervous. We try our hardest not to sound too sensitive, but at the same time, we don't wanna lose you or have you find some other guy. We try to sound cool, sometimes resulting in us acting stubborn."

"Are you nervous?" I inquire a playful tone to my voice.

He bites his bottom lip and a rather allusive smile appears across his lips, "Maybe."

"No, no, you're the cool, collected star basketball player, Troy Bolton, that's impossible!" I tell him, jolting a finger in his face.

The closeness between us becomes irresistible.

"Gabriella, I'm only human." He gives me a sweet smile.

Sometimes I feel like I'm just on a thread with him, like he's pulling me with each and every moment, like he has full control of me sometimes. His hands find my own and he's still smiling at me. I give him a smile of my own - unable to resist him in all his glory.

I want to put my hands through that nauseatingly gorgeous hair, but the bell rings before either of us can make another move.

"I'm going to be late . . . again!" I yelp, looking at him incredulously, but unable to move my feet.

"_You're_ going to be late?" He jests, planting a kiss on my cheek, and then giving me a wink that only electrifies my piety for him.

I watch as he jogs away, running as fast as I can imagine he can run. I giggle slightly, in some sort of day dream. I disregard the fact that I am late, and soon realize I need to get to class too. Still, I'm mesmerized.

* * *

"The best pizza you could ever have," Troy boasts as we head into the lunch line.

I continue rolling my eyes, "Troy . . . I hate school pizza!"

"Yeah, but this is _Tony's_ - the greatest pizza ever." He coaxes, his hand at my back gradually pushing me towards the Pasta aisle.

"Oh, please, I could really pass on this one, Chef Bolton."

"El, we've made this a routine - you can't just break it now. I mean, you're quitting. You can't just give up! Are you going to do that in college? I think not."

I can't help but chuckle at him as he fills two trays with the pizza.

"Again, this is coming from someone who believes shoes have significance."

He turns to face me, his eyes serious. I find myself choking on giggles as he knots his eyebrows in offense, "Everything has significance, from the shoes to the hair to the eyes to the pants to the belt to the shirt."

I suppress the urge to laugh, "Oh really? Your belt has significance?"

"Of course it does!" He looks insulted that I would think less.

"You are out of this world, Bolton . . . what does it signify?"

"It could mean a lot of things, really . . ." He nips his bottom lip as we move closer towards the register.

I watch him as he moves backwards, his eyes still on me, "One, it could mean I'm ridiculously eager to look awesome," I chuckle, but he doesn't stop, "Two . . . it could mean that my pants might fall off if I don't have one," Now I'm laughing, and he's smiling, but he continues, "Or three . . . . I'm just desperate for you to come and take it off."

I blush madly as he gives me another wink and does that wonderful crooked grin of his.

"I'm thinking . . . all the following." I feel his eyes on me as he approaches the register, paying for our food.

I follow behind him, "You're a funny one, Troy."

He turns around just to give me a grin, and the way his eyes slant when he smiles, it still drives me crazy, "Aw, but you like it, right?"

He has that part right.

"Gabriella?" A slightly familiar voice calls from afar, before we meet our lunch table.

I look to Troy who looks as confused as I am. I twirl around and find myself looking into two warm, tawny-colored eyes. Eduardo.

Unable to hide my excitement, I prop my tray on top of Troy's, dashing towards the old friend I have not seen in what seems like years. We embrace and I cannot help but savor the hug. An old, invigorating feeling appears.

"Where have you been? I knew you went to this school, but I've never seen you around! How have you been?" I ask, pulling out of the hug, looking him in the eyes.

He looks the same as he did years ago - his hair a dirty dark black color, his eyes a lively brown. He looks more worn out now though - his eyes having dark circles underneath them, his clothes a bit more woven.

"Great, great . . . and I know, what luck, huh? I heard you talked to my dad the other day, too."

Mr. Delgado is Eduardo's father - the man that Troy and I came across a week or so ago. Ironically, I feel Troy coming up from behind me.

"And . . . this is the guy that gave my dad the one hundred, right?" He suddenly inquires, his eyes facing Troy, who looks awkward, his hands shoved in his pockets.

Troy gives him a forced smile, "Yeah, that's me. Troy." He nods to him.

"Eduardo . . . thanks, man. That really helped a lot." Eduardo's eyes fall back to me.

"Gosh, you're so pretty, Ella. It's like; I forgot the good times we had."

Troy's position from behind me suddenly changes. He moves closer to me, and I feel him grab my hand, some kind of protective behavior taking him over.

I give him a bizarre look, but can't help but smile, "Yeah . . ."

"Call me some time, I missed you a lot. I was stupid when we were kids, but I've grown up a bit, you know?"

Troy's grip tightens, "Yeah, I know . . . I will, definitely."

I can tell Eduardo feels cowed by Troy's eyes. I almost wish Troy would stop glaring.

Eduardo walks away, his gaze never leaving me.

Troy, with our two trays in one arm, and his other hand in my own, looks down to me, a look of disgust in his eyes, "You guys seem close . . ."

"When we were kids, we were best friends." I respond indifferently, as we head towards the table.

He puts the trays down and his eyes lift up to me, "You never told me about him."

I roll my eyes, "It's not a big deal. He broke my heart, and I didn't like him at all. We were just good friends. It's not even worth talking about."

"Gabriella," His eyes are serious, "He was totally checking you out."

"Troy," I breathe, chuckling, "Are you jealous?"

He looks elsewhere, suddenly looking overwrought and irritated, "No . . . I just can't believe you never mentioned him. And well . . . alright, I'm kind of selfish."

"Selfish?" I raise an eyebrow as he meets my eyes again.

"This isn't just some "thing" to me . . . this is real, El." His eyes have so much emotion in them, I cannot speak.

"I'm serious about you . . . that guy, he doesn't care about you like I do, and he couldn't."

"Troy," I plead as he continues on, looking directly at the table.

His eyes bounce up and I meet his eyes, my lips curving into a smile, "Stop . . . he's just an old friend. You're wonderful . . . you're impossibly wonderful."

The way he breathes almost in relief sends me into hysterics - I'm crashing my lips against his again, despite the fact that we're in a public cafeteria.

He breaks the kiss, the blue in his eyes making my heart tremble, "Are there any guys from the past that you should tell me about that are just going to appear out of nowhere?"

I giggle, "No, that was the only one, I promise."

His breath tickles my nose, the closeness making me addicted again. I kiss the top of his nose, "You're the only one, Troy."

"You just kissed my nose . . ." He furrows his eyebrows, a half-smile playing on his face.

"Yes . . . and you told me you're desperate for me to undo your belt."

"Gabriella, I'm not a pervert that was perfectly good-humored . . . not saying I would mind, because I totally wouldn't." He gives me a cheesy grin as he pulls me in for another kiss.

* * *

At the end of the day, I find myself eager to get out of school. I know Troy has practice so I will not see him until tomorrow night after his basketball game. He promised he would take me home afterwards. I can't help but be anxious, already.

Taylor finds me at the end of the day while I am at my locker, "Hey, Gabriella. You won't believe this . . . Chad talked to me today; he told me he really likes me. It was so sweet!" She seems exhilarated.

I can't help but smile when I turn back to face her.

"Really? That's great!" I exclaim, happy for her.

"Yeah, I know. I've been waiting forever . . . by the way; you and Troy look adorable together. Has he asked you out yet?"

I shuffle my feet, "Um . . . Taylor, I doubt he will. This is good enough for me."

"Are you joking me? He definitely will. He's far too obsessed with you to not."

I do not respond, just grab my books.

"Hey, what are you doing Saturday night?" She suddenly asks.

"Um . . . I'm going to my dad's I guess, why?" I question, remembering that I am going to see my dad at his coworker's place this weekend.

"I'm having a party - a small get together. Chad's coming and Troy said he was going to come if you did." She tells me, her eyes pleading, "Sharpay and Earl aren't going to be there, Gabriella . . . you should come."

"Oh, I don't know . . . I'm not really a party person." I confess, biting my bottom lip roughly.

"Come _on_, Troy said he'd take you and everything! It'll be so fun." She persuades, enthusiastically.

I sigh, "I'll think about it, okay?"

"You better be there!" She gives me a pointed finger before walking away.


	19. Chapter Nineteen: I'm In Too Deep

I receive some kind of confidence when I take my seat next to Taylor's group of girls at the basketball game on Friday night. Maybe I am just anxious. Maybe I am just nervous. I am susceptible to Troy's begging eyes and I could not say no. He convinced me - he always does.

I even brought out my old, tattered up Wildcats sweatshirt that I have not worn in years. There's some kind of relief in the air tonight, some kind of innocence. I feel important being around these girls - I can tell they are genuine, they are not using me. I feel liked for once in my life, I feel like I can speak with them like a normal human being. It's amazing when you find yourself people you can trust.

I wear my hair down in spiral black curls - I want to make Troy's eyes go ballistic. My hair grows fairly fast and it is now just drifting down to my shoulders. I wear bountiful amounts of eyeliner - convinced it may bring out the brown in my eyes. My lips are even perched in a light pink. The sweatshirt seems rather baggy on me but I allow it to fall to the end of my waist. I wear a matching red miniskirt that could pass as a cheerleader's. I have never worn clothes like these since I was actually approved in East High. It seems like a big step, like something dramatic. I am, however, ready for giant leaps.

Taylor stands to my right, looking more enthusiastic than you will ever guess. She seems well made up tonight also. Maybe she is trying to lure Chad in a _bit_ further. Her dark hair riffs into small, natural-looking curls at the ends, her bangs sweep to the side in a chic-like fashion. She wears a pair of white capris and a t-shirt that says Wildcats on it. Over her t-shirt, she wears a denim jacket. She's looking desperately for Chad in the group of basketball players that are huddled around on the court.

Kelsi is on my left. She obtains herself in a more classic, obstinate way. I don't think I could imagine her in something revealing, ever. She always keeps herself on a low, timid level. Her pants are a beige color, her shirt a mere t-shirt and a light zip-up hoodie over it. Her green eyes are facing forward but she seems lost in a trail of thoughts, maybe. She has always seemed like a dreamer to me. She always looks rather distant - as if her mind is swimming with millions of thoughts. However, once Kelsi gets wired up, her eyes have a slight gleam to them. It's hard to dislike her.

Then there is Martha, who is standing by Kelsi, her brown eyes brimming with energy. At first, I found her nosey, possibly a bit too blunt. However, I am beginning to like her. She brings a new personality to this group. It's relieving to find someone more outspoken sometimes. It shakes things up a bit. She is wearing her Wildcats sweatshirt and a skirt similar to mine.

"They're announcing the players." Taylor whispers to me, eagerly, pointing towards the court, "There's Chad."

I watch as a smile engulfs her face as she watches Chad scurry passed the audience - the sound of cheering and screaming now very loud. Taylor's face lights up as if the sun has just beaten down on her. I can see the admiration dancing across her face.

I cannot help but smile.

Nonchalantly, I listen and watch as they announce every single player. I notice Mr. Bolton sitting in a small row in the front of the audience - where the players would all gather together. My mind flashes back to the day at Troy's house, and the shoe conversation. I feel a giggle about to escape my lips. Something interrupts this.

"And, number fourteen . . . Troooy Bolton!" The speakers echo.

I hear all the girls behind me shrieking like children and I am almost obligated to cover my ears.

Taylor elbows me and I find myself eagerly watching the court. There he is. I feel all my muscles tense up as he swiftly jogs out to the center of the court. I cannot even hear the cheering from behind me anymore. Everything is blacked out - my only vision is the extremely toned young man darting passed me. As if reading my mind, his eyes shift towards the audience. I feel my heart drop down to my stomach as he gives me a playful smile, following by that wink. I hear girls from behind me, fighting over who he was winking at.

I find myself doing something I never do - I begin to smirk.

From then on, it's as if he takes control of his team, of that court. Even Mr. Bolton watches him in some kind of fascination. He throws the basketball into the hoop so effortlessly, as if he is meant to do this, as if he is _supposed_ to do this. It's as if this is his profession, this is what he is supposed to do with his life. He is flawless at every strive, at every dribble, at every toss. The lights from the top of the gymnasium play across his face and muscles like a scene from a movie. The perspiration trills down his face and he begins to furiously lick the root of his lips. He's frowning, but it's beautiful - so beautiful I feel a weakness from it.

The wildcats kill the other team with simplicity, as if it is not a big deal at all. Still, they carry Troy around like he is only a ten pound child. He accepts this attention and the way his blue eyes sparkle in satisfaction . . . it drives me crazy.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow then?" Taylor asks, gathering up her things, not looking at me, as if she expects me to say yes, no matter what.

"Taylor . . . I'm not sure about that yet." I tell her; referring to the party she is going to have.

It's not that I do not want to associate with her. I have grown a strong liking to Taylor. She seems real, she seems sincere. I can see myself becoming good friends with her. It's the simple fact that I will be at my father's girlfriend's house and I am not sure what that will be like.

"Don't be a party pooper." She lectures, giving me a slight smile, beginning to slide between the bleachers, hoping to beat the crowd of erratic teenagers.

"See you later, Gabriella." Kelsi and Martha make no delay in getting out, also.

I sigh in exasperation. Troy promised that he would give me a ride home. I just need to meet him in the locker room. For a girl, it seems kind of awkward, casually walking into a men's locker room. He said that most of the guys were out of there in seconds, so I won't feel embarrassed for being in there. Basically, it'll be dead.

I only hope he is right.

I breathe in sharply and head towards the locker rooms. I find myself bumping into numerous, sweaty basketball players. They seem aggressive and anxious to get out, for they practically shove me out of the way. I notice Chad standing against a wall, Taylor speaking with him. A smile is spread across both of their faces. I find myself smiling with them. I'm such a sap.

A few more guys escape from the locker room and I decide to see if the coast is clear. Nervously, I peek around the locker room's door, hearing no voices. I hear a few loud sounds, as if someone is moving things into their locker.

"Looking for someone?" My heart nearly jumps out of my throat at the sound of his voice disporting in my ear.

I feel his arms wrap around me, and I can feel the literal sweat on him but it suddenly doesn't matter.

"Hi, Troy . . ." I manage out a weak smile, turning to face him.

"Hey El, you look kind of nervous. It's a locker room, not a dungeon." Lazily, his arm wraps around my waistline. "Care for a tour?"

"I'm sure it smells rather lovely." I jest, rolling my eyes as he pulls me into the locker room.

It really is dead. And the smell could make anyone vomit.

"It's simply astounding." I mutter, as I follow him towards his locker.

"I've just gotta get my things gathered up, then we can head out."

I realize that he changed his shorts before I met up with him. Now, he's taking his shirt off, reaching for a sweatshirt he has placed on the bench.

My eyes wander towards his perfectly toned stomach - his rippling abs seem even more phenomenal. He has the best tan color to him, not overdone, not pale. An almost invisible line of hair runs from the end of his stomach to God knows where. Nothing close to a mannequin, that's for sure. He is wonderful, naturally wonderful.

He pulls on a gray hoodie, not minding to put the hood down.

I chuckle as he turns to me, finally putting the hood down, "Ready?" He asks, grabbing his bag.

He slides his arm around me and I walk next to him, leaning close to him.

We're about to exit the locker room, when he halts, biting his bottom lip.

"What?" I inquire, turning to face him with confusion.

For a few seconds, his face is emotionless, when suddenly, a smile flickers across his lips, "We're alone."

The words play upon his lips like a miracle.

He scoops me up into his arms, ignoring my squeals. I'm suddenly against the locker room's filthy walls, his hands pinning my own to the wall. Our lips are inches away and I feel trembles of want inside of me. His soft, tender lips find their way on mine and he hesitates when a centimeter away from them. They are brushing against my top lip, teasingly. I feel a sudden heat wave between us as he plants the sweetest kiss on my lips. He then slides his tongue into my mouth, carefully, so gently. He's not pinning me to the wall anymore. My hands have fallen to my sides and his are now smoothing across my face, his touch making me lost in his everything . . . his kiss, his touch, even the scent of his sweat seems addictive. In a melodic unison, I feel this could go on for hours.

Then something forces me away from him. I feel an unpleasant, morbid coldness taking over the entire room. It's a rather familiar feeling and I feel myself begin to shake with fear. I feel a gasp emit from my lips. Troy's furrowing his eyebrows, looking at me with concern.

"He's here." My eyes close in pain, the aloof temperature of the room becoming unbearable.

How can I practically sense him? The terror alone decreases the temperature. My teeth are gritted together in disgust.

"Gabriella, what are you talking about? No one's here but you and me." He says, as if I have lost my mind completely.

"No," I hiss, determinedly, "he's here."

My eyes flash open to a pair of worried, dark blue eyes. My legs are dithering.

Troy's eyes move away from me with irritation, "El, seriously, no one's here."

With his comment, we hear the sound of a door closing. I jump in shock, my hands wrapping around his abdomen for protection. His expression changes and the laidback look in his eyes vanish.

His eyes are at the door, "I swear I locked it."

"Troy, he's here. He's _in_ here - he's going to kill me." I whisper into his chest, my entire body now vibrating in panic.

I feel Troy's hands soothingly caressing the back of my head.

"I promise he's not, he can't hurt you. I'm here, Gabriella." He coos into my ear, suddenly his body becoming a tower of strength to me.

"Let's just get it out of here." He mutters, pulling me out of his arms.

However, my eyes fall to a shadow at the edge of the locker room. I feel myself grip right back onto Troy, biting my bottom lip so hard I taste blood seeping into my mouth. He freezes, noticing the shadow, also.

"Well, hello there." That creepy, unsanitary voice, I can never forget it.

My mouth becomes dry and I feel Troy wrap his arms around me, bringing me to his chest so we are both facing this disgusting man. His hands are so tight on my stomach, but my head fits into the crevasse between his chin and his neck.

"I figured I would congratulate you on your win, Troy." Earl's putrid eyes scan us both, and I back in farther to Troy, whose lips are lingering on the back of my head.

"After you let me borrow your homework the other day, I couldn't repay you better, man." Earl's expression changes - a malicious smirk appearing across his lizard-like lips.

The words sink into me and I force my eyes to lift up to Troy. Troy holds a rather hateful expression, but my anger and hurt may overpower it by millions. I have to stop myself from breaking out of his brace. I cannot. He's far too strong, anyways.

"Gabriella, you look . . ." He does not stop, he continues.

I feel Troy's lips behind my head practically cutting into my hair. I feel all his muscles clenching together. Earl's eyes go from my face to my feet, ambling on the private areas.

Troy inhales cuttingly, his hold on me never changing. "I'm going to kill him." I hear him grumble into my ear, all my senses stirring from his aggressiveness.

I am fighting a battle with my heart as Earl gives me one final glance. "Well, see you later." That ghostly grin appears on his face again.

I feel sick to my stomach as he walks away, his feet moving slowly.

"You . . . lent him a homework assignment?" I manage to breathe out, sucking in the thick air around us.

I feel as if my heart may explode from its fast tempo.

"Gabriella, no . . ." I hear him whisper as I unleash his arms from my stomach.

I see the emptiness appear in his eyes as I move away, suddenly confused, maybe even a bit hurt.

"I'm just . . . some frenetic girl who doesn't know what she's talking about. You are all making fun of me behind my back." I feel a salty, piercing taste on my lips as I look to him, feeling so much passionate anger I cannot explain it.

My eyes are now slits, surging him to the ground.

"It's not like that, El, come on . . ." Troy pleads, his eyes dark from the dim lights in the locker room. I see the emotion in his eyes.

"You two are friends. You two are _friends_. I am such an idiot. Sorry for thinking you were so perfect." I whisper, tears stinging my eyes.

I try to force them back, feeling stupid and vulnerable in front of him. I squeeze them tightly and turn around, heading towards the door, a muffled sob coming from my lips.

I feel used, and ridiculous for believing in him, for assuming he may be serious. I feel small again, I feel unimportant again. My heart feels as if it has been ripped out at the seams and I begin to choke on my tears as I stumble out of the locker room. It was all just a dream, something my mind made up.

I refuse to stop moving my feet, though they are becoming unstable. I feel my entire body giving way. The pit of my stomach is tied into knots and I feel unconditional amounts of emotions flooding through me. I cannot move my feet any further and my eyes glide up to the ceiling, my heart cut in two. I am nothing . . . nothing now. I have nothing. He was my hope, he was my dream, and he was my _reason_. How could I give it all up again?

I hear the sound of shoes on tile, _running_. My stomach tightens again and I feel my heart throbbing. This seems different than everything. This hurts far worse than I could expect. This is something I can not live without. This is something I will _die_ without. My insides are already going numb when I blink back my tears and turn to face none other than Troy Bolton, who was running to catch up with me.

The unguarded look on his face makes my palms sweat and I feel my eyes beginning to water as he steps towards me. My feet will not move.

"Listen to me," He says, desperately, the strongest tenderness in his eyes.

I watch him, my lips departed with agony.

His expression weakens even more as he moves closer to me, "I can't _stand_ him, Gabriella. You know I'd never do anything to hurt you. After what he did to you, God . . ." He moves a hand through his hair, then makes another advance towards me.

"I gave him some homework before I knew about everything - I had no idea, El." He's so close, his hands begin to thread through my hair, some look I cannot explain on his face.

"I can't . . ." I feel myself shaking as the tears give away, "I can't do this Troy, not without you."

My head sinks into his chest and I feel all my tears falling onto his shoulder.

"Please don't hurt me. You make my life worth it . . . I'm nothing if you're not around."

"Stop that," He demands, breaking out of the embrace. His intense, beautiful-colored eyes meet mine, "You don't need me for anything. You're a strong, independent woman, and no matter what happens, you'll be alright." His eyes are at the ceiling, "I'm the one who couldn't stand you going anywhere. Gabriella, I'm right here, I'm _never_ going to hurt you, and neither is he. I won't let him."

His eyes gaze up to mine in nothing but sincerity.

My tears stop falling and I find myself just looking at him, "I wanted to get angry, I wanted to ignore you, I can't even do that . . ." I mumble, feeling puny and weak. "I break all over again with you."

"Please, Gabriella, don't ever . . . I couldn't stand not talking to you." He moves close to me again and I feel his arms around me. He kisses the side of my face, "I couldn't back away now even if I tried to - I'm in too deep."

The way his lips trail a path around my earlobe . . . the way our breathing rate matches . . . the way our hearts are beating against each other. I know there's no backing down now.

And with the way he looked at me so desperately a few minutes ago . . . it tells me something, something most girls don't see with their very eyes. It tells me something I needed to know - Troy Bolton . . . he's in love with me.

And despite how stupid that sounds and how I'm saying something that I'm not even certain of, I don't care. I realized the star basketball player's ultimate weakness - myself. 


	20. Chapter Twenty: If Its Meant To Be

The darkness of the night is undefeatable. It seems calmer than usual as Troy and I make our way to his car. The air seems a bit chillier at night, the day's humidity evaporating in just the matter of a few hours. It's so quiet. You can hear the lifeless tree leaves whipping around from the wind. You can hear your own footsteps. It's almost frightening. I am latched onto Troy's muscular arm, seeking some sort of rampart from the eclipse in between us.

Troy seems confused on why I am afraid of the simple night. I am the girl who has dealt with things most haven't. I should be more courageous. This is not even the bad part of the town. Here, in East High's area, things were safe. Here, with Troy standing next to me, I am insulated from all terror in the world. I feel comfort when I touch him. I cannot explain it. I almost wish to touch him all the time, to never depart from his arms. It seems to invigorate me, this simple, addictive feeling. I know I am deep. I know I have fallen. And so far, he is catching me. So far, he is standing beside me. I cannot endure the thought of him ever walking out of my life. He seems a part of my life now. His smile makes me feel at home.

He opens the passenger seat's door for me. I slip inside as he makes his way around to the driver seat. I can barely make out anything in his car. The sky is fixated like a blanket. Stars seem to emphasize its dark beauty. I feel a smile form on my face as I begin to appreciate the young man that lifts me from my somber spirits. The sky reminds me of my colorless, futile life before Troy walked into it. Now, things are different. The sky illuminates with such color, with such refinement. The stars redefined the sky. The stars strengthened the sky with their passion. I may be analyzing this too much - but it reminds me of the happiness I receive from Troy. It reminds me of the wonder he brings into my life.

"You ready?" He asks, his voice erupting into my thoughts.

His eyes are the only blue I can make out in the darkness.

My smile never fades, "Yeah."

He gives me a modest smile before putting the keys into the car. He shifts the lever to reverse and backs out of the schools' vacant parking lot, to get onto the main road.

"It's 1675 Sandia Heights. I think it's on the north eastern part of town." I inform him, my eyes gazing out at the dim streets of Albuquerque.

His eyes slide to me, "Really? My grandparents live out there. That's half the reason my dad wanted to move here. He wanted to be closer to his parents." He tells me, his eyes now falling to the road.

"It's a really nice neighborhood, El." A smile flickers across his lips, "You're going to love it."

For a second, he lays his eyes on me, as if to confirm he's telling the truth.

"I hope so." I breathe, letting out an uneasy sigh. "You know, I've come to realize, you know practically everything about my family, but I know nothing of yours." I cannot shake the curiosity that has enraptured me.

He lets out his heartfelt laugh - is it even legal to laugh so wonderfully? His laugh is so contagious.

I feel his eyes surf over towards me and I look up to meet them. The window is down just a tiny bit, the wind teasing the sides of his hair. He looks like an angel. His eyes seem like a dream to me.

"There's not much to know about my family. I mean, you know my dad. Now you know my grandparents live here. I have a few aunts and uncles back in Santa Barbara." He mentions, reminding me of where he is originally from.

"What was it like there? You were rich there too, weren't you?" I give him a jesting smile.

Santa Barbara is rated the second best place to visit in California. I know well enough the boy sitting next to me has luck on his side.

He chuckles and moves a hand through his hair, "It was gorgeous there. I mean, it's so weird coming here because it's like going from _all_ green to just . . . complete desert." His eyes are back on the road, "You'd love it, Gabriella. You seem like a Cali girl."

I can't refrain from giggling, "Do you get that from my shoes or from my skirt?"

His eyes trail my way, and I cannot even begin to explain how sexy the look he gives me is. His eyes seem to narrow, turning into slits of blue. His eyelashes become eloquent. He bites his bottom lip suggestively and cocks his eyebrows,

"That skirt . . ." He answers, his eyes wandering to the tiny, cheerleader-like skirt I put on earlier in hopes of luring him in. "That skirt is so hot, are you trying to kill me? I mean, it's been a wonderful life, I don't wanna end it now."

"Funny, Troy Bolton . . . I'm almost depressed that you don't have your vans on." I notice, my eyes nodding towards his white and red tennis shoes.

"I knew I was missing something!" He exclaims.

I begin to laugh, unable to control my amusement.

"Oh, that's really hilarious, El. Now, back to the real subject, that skirt, I mean . . . that could really get a guy's attention, you know? I mean, you wouldn't _purposely_ do that, would you?"

"Hm . . . I don't know, maybe I would." I tease, giving him my best provocative glance.

I realize we are driving down an unfamiliar road that I have never been on before. A large sign is implanted into the ground. In artistic, cursive writing, it reads the words _Welcome to Sandia Heights_. It reminds me of what it is probably like to enter a vacation resort.

"Don't be nervous," He tells me, extending his hand to me, grabbing my own and squeezing it tightly, his other hand on the wheel, "I bet she's really nice."

"I know I can't be stubborn about this. If my dad's happy, I need to be happy. I just can't shake the thought of my mother at home by herself, heartbroken because of all of this." My lips curve into a frown.

"Don't force yourself to be happy for him, El. It'll just stress you out even more. She can't replace your mom; you know that as well as he does. So don't think it's about that; think of it as an opportunity to get to know someone new."

I am too captivated in the sight of Troy's moving lips and by the soft touch of his hand, his fingers swiping my own hand in a back and forth motion.

"You always know exactly what to say." I whisper, my eyes looking up to him through the darkness.

We are not moving anymore. My eyes have not broken away from him. I look down to my feet, suddenly, afraid to meet what I am going to face.

"Look, I'm sorry all of that happened in the locker room. I can't believe he'd try to turn you against me like that." He suddenly says, a look of irritation appearing in his eyes as I look back to him, not expecting him to even bring up the topic.

I swallow, thickly, "I believe it."

"Suddenly, I'm having a fear of losing something I never had to begin with." His eyes project emotion that cannot be taken lightly.

He seems vulnerable. The poignant look in his eyes only melts me deeper into the seat. And then, his classic smile comes back, erasing the previous expression.

"Man, Gabriella, you've got me talking like Chad or something."

A laugh escapes from my lips, "What's so bad about that?"

"It's just . . . I sound all crazy, and obsessive and stuff, I mean, you're probably already scared enough." His smile is relentless.

I notice a hint of embarrassment in his eyes, however. He bites his lip and does not meet my eyes. His hands comb through his hair neurotically.

"Let's face it, Troy, I'm _terrified_." I giggle buoyantly as he lifts his eyes up.

He first gives me a rather bizarre look, his eyebrows furrowing. Then the unusual expression dies. Dangerously, a grin appears across his lips. I feel as if there are fireworks behind him. He is the definition of amazing. He _has_ to be.

He reaches to me, pulling him close to him. I breathe in sharply, surprised by his gesture. I feel him kissing the top of my head as he holds me closely to his chest.

"I'm almost tempted to just kidnap you tonight."

My eyes blink up to him, the tranquility of the night almost perfect at the moment. He plants his lips onto my neck, the best feelings conceivable flooding through my veins, through my soul, through my thrusting heart. He did not take a shower at practice. He smells of sweat, but with Troy, the sweat is almost stimulating. I find myself longing for more of him.

I close my eyes as my arms wrap around his neck, as if they are meant to be there. I can hear him breathing and it pleases me.

"I'll call you tonight, alright, just to check in?" He suggests, his warm breath tickling the sides of my ear.

"I'd love that." My eyes flutter open to meet the blues in his.

I still feel that shy innocence looking into his eyes. I still feel that bolt of lightning flaring into my soul when he pulls me in for a goodnight kiss.

I seem to forget everything when I meet the lips of a living dream. I did not need to die to feel and grasp heaven. It seems to be right in front of my eyes.

"Goodnight El." Sweetly, his lips creep around my ear.

He then looks straight at me, my eyes now meeting his.

"Don't worry, it's gonna be fine." He tells me, that beautiful smile dancing across his lips.

"Thank you." I brush my lips against his before I yank the door open, grabbing my bag of useless things from underneath the seat.

I look at him one final time, the smile lingering on his face. Bashfully, I smile back at him, and then close the door.

I watch his car disappear from the road. I turn around and find myself standing in front of spacious homes, homes I did not know even existed. They are not like Troy's house. They are wide, yet did not contain numerous stories. You would not call them mansions. You may call them villas, or something more . . . casual.

I feel my nerves act up as I power enough gall to approach the front door. There is an upstairs to the house it seems. To me, it is like a fantasy, come to reality. To a normal person, it most-likely does not mean a thing. I am used to a trailer park - poverty at its best. This seems safe. The windows do not need to be boarded. _Everything_ seems at peace.

I knock at the door, softly.

It's only seconds until I hear heels clanking against the floor. Impatience surges through me and I begin to shift my feet, awkwardly.

The door opens.

I am surprised at what I see.

This woman, she's drop-dead gorgeous. Her hair is a dark ginger color. It seems faultless, dropping to the midsection of her back. She wears a thin barrette on the side of her hair. This makes me believe she's still a bit energetic; that her young days have not withered her out yet. Her eyes are brown, dark, chocolate brown. Her face is a peach color, her cheeks dashed with crops of blush. Her shirt is a white-colored long sleeved shirt. It seems too short for her though and meets the posterior of her stomach. Her jeans are tiny on her. She could surely pass as a teenager, had she really wanted to. She reminds me of Kate Beckinsale.

"Hi. You must be Gabriella, right?" Her voice is shrilly, but welcoming at the same time.

It's as if she is my age, practically.

"Yeah, that's me." I force out, looking up to her with edgy eyes.

"Oh, wow! You really are _gorgeous_! I thought Greg was exaggerating." She smiles at me and I feel a slight ease of mind.

"Well, come on inside. Your dad's still at work obviously. He won't be back until late tonight, but I'm sure we can manage!" She seems unusually bubbly and talkative.

She leads me into the house and I must keep myself from gasping in awe. Compared to the trailer park, it seems so luminous. The windows in her house seem immense in size - curtains tower them in radiant decoration. The floor is wooden and seems to shine from the chandelier by the staircase. Yes, I just said chandelier. I assume my eyes were huge by now.

"Let me show you your room, hon. I'm Brooklyn by the way. You can just call me that. Are you a big fanatic about your name? Any nicknames you prefer?" She asks, heading up the stairs.

"Um, no, Gabriella's fine." I tell her, uncomfortably, trailing after her.

I do feel warmth emit from her. She seems absolute in every way possible. It does not shock me that my father fell in love with a woman like her. She has to be a good person. My father may have cheated on my mother with another woman, but there is no doubt in my mind that this woman had to be at least a _good_ woman. How he managed to obtain someone as high-class as her will forever remain a mystery to me.

"It's Spanish right? It's such a pretty name." Brooklyn says, ushering me towards a hallway that seems boundless.

I must be dreaming. I just have to be. "I really hope there are no hard feelings. I respect your mother completely. To be honest, I didn't even know Greg had a wife until last week."

I try to hide my disgust with my father. How could he be such a conniving pig? He went behind my mother's back with this woman and didn't even mention that he was married!

"Love conquers everything though, right?" She lets out a nervous chuckle before opening up a room, her eyes flashing back to me. "This is it."

" . . . Thanks." The silence between us seems ceaseless.

I compel myself towards the room, "I'll just . . . stay in here a little while. I have some homework to do."

I do not meet her eyes - I can never face someone I am lying to.

"Alright, little darling - well, if you need anything, just yell at me. We can't be strangers for too long now can we?" She gives me a rather teasing grin before heading towards the stairs.

Her head tilts back towards me, "Oh, and don't mind the toys and whatnot. It used to be my older sister's room until she passed away. Sometimes my niece and nephew bring their toys over and forget to take them home." She chuckles before heading down the steps.

I take a glance around the room, warily, before I walk inside. It smells like pine and wood, I notice. The bed is twin-sized but looks more comfortable than my own. I feel a sudden wave of exhaustion hit me as I stand in front of a large mirror placed above the dresser. The room looks as though it has not been touched in years. I can speck out tiny fragments of dust on the dresser, and the floor seems to creak when I walk on it. There is a window on the left side of the bed. I walk over towards the window, taking a nice glimpse of the neighborhood.

Troy is right. It is wonderful. I want to feel relief knowing I am safe. I want to feel happiness knowing I am in a decent, clean house. I feel guilty though. My mother's heart has been ripped into pieces. My father has hurt her more than anyone would imagine. It is hard enough loving someone who doesn't love you back . . . but to love someone who once loved you who is now in love with someone else . . . the pain must be unbearable.

My eyes boost to the sky. Stars still scatter it aimlessly. My mind wanders to Troy. Every second I'm away from him I wonder what he is doing, what he is thinking. I always hope that he's thinking about me. My insecurities tend to scratch out that possibility. He has been making me feel a lot better about myself, physically and emotionally. However, after that breakdown today, I feel as if I am just a weak girl again, crying over silly things. I love him. Yes, I _love_ him. I said it.

But it has only been a month and a half since we've met. Being with someone every day can change the idea, but still. I feel as if I'm just crashing down. I'm not falling, I'm crashing. And the only thing that's going to stop me is the ground. When I meet the ground, I'll have nothing left. This all seems just like a tease.

I grab my PJ pants from my bag, realizing it's almost ten o'clock. I then throw on a lazy t-shirt that comes down to my waist. I sigh, tiredly, looking at that miraculous bed in front of me.

I lay myself down and feel an instant amenity from it. My eyes rest on the ceiling, listlessly. I find myself drifting into slumber. My eyes are becoming weary. I jolt up at the sound of a ringing sound. I rush to my bag, pulling out my cell phone. It's definitely Troy. We exchanged numbers after hanging out. He has been in my phone ever since.

My heart skips a beat as I click the talk button. "Hello?"

"So, I'm currently in my bedroom, lying on my bed, throwing a mini basketball beanie up and down. I'm _really_ bored." I smile at the sound of his voice.

"I'm sorry, Troy, have you never heard of the term _sleep_?"

"What's this sleep business you speak of?" I can hear him chuckling from the other side of the phone. "So, how is she?"

"Um, she's insanely talkative. And she's like a model or something. She looks like she's eighteen still."

"Awesome! So when can I come over and meet her?"

I roll my eyes, "Ha, funny. But, seriously, I feel so _bad_. She's the woman who stole my dad from my mom! I feel like I'm being a jerk to my mom by trying to make friends with her." I sigh, my eyes darting back up to the ceiling.

"Well, don't try. Just let it happen." Troy advises. "You can't force anything."

"She's beautiful though, Troy. It's unfair. Why wouldn't he choose her over my mother? She's rich, she's gorgeous, and she's nice . . ."

He interrupts me, "Hey, don't worry about it, alright? If its love then . . . it's meant to be, right? And if it's not then . . . something else will work out."

"You're . . . such a man." I can't help but burst into laughter at my own comment.

"Well, I'd hope that was the case. If you thought I was a girl this entire time, El . ."

"You can't just hop scotch with significant others. She's not going to just find someone like my dad in the matter of a second. I know you guys seem to stop caring in less than a day, but we girls are more sensitive."

"Honestly, Gabriella, I don't think your dad fell out of love in a day. My assumption is that as time flew by, he started feeling less and less for your mom; he just never said anything about it. Then, when he met this . . . woman, well, I mean, you know. They just clicked. Nobody just falls out of love."

"Okay, Mr. Love Doctor." I jest, laughing as I heard him scoff.

"I was just defending guys in general. We're not _that_ horrible." He tells me a second after. "At least . . . I'm not." He adds, his voice becoming softer.

I can't find the words to say. My mind is clouded and my stomach is filled with butterflies.

Troy sighs, "I'm so tired. Gabriella, will you sing me to sleep?" I can hear the joking tone in his voice.

"I can't sing. I bet you could though." My eyes close, exhaustion consuming me. He does everything else flawlessly. I figure his voice is probably wonderful.

"I wouldn't sing myself to sleep. And I don't know any songs I could sing to you." He says, his voice drifting off, as if he's bound to fall asleep.

"I don't know . . . something calm, peaceful."

"Like, classic rock or something?" He asks, as if actually thinking about it. Then again, anyone who's half asleep can't function correctly.

"Yeah, that's calm. What do you have in mind?" I ask, chuckling lowly.

"You know, the guys in basketball would _kill_ me if they knew I was about to do this." He tells me, his melodic laugh making me weaker than I already am.

"I mean, I don't even listen to classic rock usually. My dad does; sometimes I get bored and steal his CD's. That usually doesn't happen though."

I'm laughing, "I can just see you sneakily trying to steal one of his CD's. I bet you did that with the fajitas, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I kneeled behind the counter and waited until he left, then I made a run for it. It's hilarious though, because with the CD's, he just thinks he misplaced them. He has no idea, whatsoever." He acts as if he's a genius about this.

I allow a yawn to break free of my mouth, "Sing to me."

He hesitates for a second. "Alright, but only under one condition,"

"Anything," I tell him, the fatigue really getting to me.

"You have to come tomorrow no matter what." He challenges, his voice stern. "And, you can't make fun of me or tell any of the guys on the basketball team."

"Because we're such good friends and everything. . ." I chuckle. "Okay, I'll talk to my dad about tomorrow. It's just, if Sharpay or someone shows up, Troy . . ."

"Hey, they aren't going to do anything, I promise." His voice is quieter now, and he's more mumbling than speaking. I can tell he's almost asleep.

"Now, I think you owe me something." I remind him, eager to hear the pipes beyond Troy Bolton's wonderful voice.

I hear him sigh, "Only because you're Gabriella."

_"Something in the way she moves - attracts me like no other lover._ _Something in the way she woes me, I don't wanna leave her now._ _You know I believe in how._ _Somewhere in her smile, she knows - that I don't need no other lover._ _Something in her style that shows me._ _I don't wanna leave her now. You know I believe in how._ _You're asking me, will my love grow?_ _I don't know, I don't know._ _You stick around and it may show. I don't know, I don't know."_

What comes from my cell phone's speaker only seems to sound like utter perfection. Is that even possible? My eyes suddenly are animated and awake. His voice fades out in the end and in my mind; I can still hear his beautiful voice. And, was that the Beatles?

"The Beatles . . .?" I ask, wanting to replay the moment.

There's no reply from the other side of the phone.

"Troy?" I hear no answer. "Did you fall asleep?" I cannot help my amusement from this, either. I wait, patiently. Still, I get no response . . .

"I'm guessing you did . . ." I whisper.

I suddenly hear a muffled sound and I chuckle. I think he attempts to say something but it's muted out by his pillow. I can hear his steady breathing now. He definitely is sleeping. I want to hang up but my finger refuses to move to the End button. I can hear him inhaling and exhaling. I am wishing to be beside him, just to be that close, just to see the beautiful look of peacefulness in his face.

I swipe my finger across the button that says End. I need to just hang up.

"Good night Troy . . ." I whisper into the cell phone, I then press the End button finally.

_I'm afraid of losing something I never had to begin with._


	21. Chapter Twenty One: My Whole Heart

I think I am in a dream.

The pictures playing before me seem real though. I can almost perceive every detail with my senses.

I am running. My heart rate seems irregular and my breathing becomes uncontrolled. I can barely make out where I am running to, or the environment around me, I can only hear myself breathing and see the giant eclipse ahead of me.

I begin to scream while I'm running. I'm screaming out Troy's name. I don't understand why. Everything seems blurry.

I cry out his name again. This time, tears form in my eyes, and an emotion of fear takes me over. I tremble as small sobs escape from my lips and I can not understand what is going on. I feel as if he has left me, as if has abandoned me. For some odd reason, I am in complete distress. I'm in complete hysteria and I feel as if I'm losing my mind. I'm lost - empty - hollow. And I will not be satisfied until I find him.

I turn and greet a dark corner, still unsure of my location. My white tank is deluged in sweat and my eyes are heavy. My heart is still racing as I meet them. They are together. I'm more panicked as I meet eyes with Troy. I can see the weakness in his eyes, the loss of control he hates that he's feeling. His lips depart as he looks to me, his body stilling as we lock eyes.

He looks beautiful, even in such a vulnerable state.

He's tied to a chair that seems more uncomfortable than it looks.

Earl is standing in front of me, his back to Troy, who is just watching me, as if worried about what Earl may do to me. I realize I must have known that Troy was in danger, that's why I was racing here.

I feel drastic amounts of hatred as I look into Earl's two morbid brown eyes. His lips break into a mocking smirk as he licks his upper lip then he reveals his disgusting pair of teeth. He begins to laugh. His laugh echoes off of the fleshless walls around us. Its one of those laughs you would hear on a scary movie - it's nasty, cruel, could surely be anyone's nightmare.

He doesn't say a thing. He just moves backwards, now standing right next to Troy, who keeps his eyes on me. He looks stiff, his chin a bit up in the air. He seems to know what Earl's intentions are. I want to help him. But I know I'm not strong enough to face up against Earl.

"Gabriella," He says my name and I feel all my muscles settle as he swallows thickly, "Get out."

The softness in his voice seems to disappear as his eyes suddenly turn serious - dead serious.

His eyebrows crease together, "Now." His tone is hard, like a father giving an order to a daughter.

"No!" I scream, more to Earl than to him.

"You can't take Troy. You _can't_. Take me, don't take him. I'm the one you want. He's innocent. You can't do this again."

The hostility inside of me seems so large; it seems it could move mountains. I glare at Earl, relentless to give up someone who is so harmless and wonderful. He does not deserve _this_.

"But you're so _sexy_ when you're angry, Gabriella." The snake snickers, taking another step back, becoming closer and closer to Troy.

"Gabriella," Troy's teeth are gritted together, "Go, please. . . I love you. You're gonna make it, you're gonna be alright. You're a strong woman."

And then it happens. The most simple, yet meaningful phrase rolls off of his tongue. And my heart's strings seem to turn inside out. I feel so much anger and passion I cannot even begin to explain it. This will not be the end. I will not let it.

My mind stops. My heart is now taking control of everything else.

Nothing is important right now. Not the past, my life, my future, Eric . . . what matters is Troy Bolton - the faultless young man who has done nothing but help me. This isn't his fate. This isn't his time. He's willing to give up for my safety, for my security. No, never. I am only running into a ring of fire - gliding across lighted matches, endlessly waiting for my death sentence. If he dies, Earl wins. I am _not_ going to let go of the jewel of my life - not Troy, never Troy.

And my insides spring with emotion. Wild fire is burning me up. It's so strong; I'm refusing to let the flames die. I can't. Not now. Not after everything. For I cannot live a life knowing _he_ is not there with me. He's my powerhouse, my electricity; he's the only thing I have that can keep me going. Without him, I am soulless. My heart is bitter and empty. Troy Bolton is my life, he's my whole heart, and he's my soul. And in this moment, inside a dream or in reality, I realize. . . I did not fully live until I met him. I did not fully breathe. I never smiled until he showed me happiness. I never cried until he listened to me. I never even _listened_ until he spoke. There is something so life-changing about him. There is something so captivating. It's in the way he talks to me, the way words move off of his tongue like a dream of some sort. He talks in a way that affects everyone, not just me. It's in the way he shoves his hands in his straight-legged jean pockets, the way he winks so naturally. He has nervous habits, like gliding his hands through his hair or moving it out of his face. He smiles and I stop breathing. His voice is a song.

I'm running towards him - not towards Earl, or towards anything else. Just Troy, nothing else matters.

* * *

"I love you too."

The words slip out of my mouth like a whisper. The images are fading and a sudden bright light is attacking my eyes.

My eyes blink open and I find myself lying in a bed. It was a dream.

My heart is still beating fast as I head towards the nearest bathroom. I glance into the mirror, meeting the same brown eyes I met the day before. I wash my face with cold water, hoping to remove the beads of sweat that formed during the night. I still feel a tug of concern from the dream. I want to believe it meant nothing - just a nervous, tossup of my imagination.

Am I falling too hard? I wonder, looking at my reflection.

I shake away unwanted thoughts as I head downstairs.

Eggs and bacon are being cooked in the kitchen. The smell nearly takes a hold of me as I stumble into the kitchen. The kitchen has a more country-like feel though the counters and cabinets are all wooden. There is a small table in the center of the room.

I notice Brooklyn by a pan of frying eggs, a cooking mitten placed on one of her hands. She looks flawless as she did the night before - her clothing looking expensive and chic. She wore a tank that seemed to flow to the beginning of her thighs - the tank dashed in flowers but without a conservative look. Her pants are black. Her hair is casted in dark curls that ride to her lower back. Again, I'm shocked my father can maintain such a lovely, fashion-obsessed woman.

She smiles at me as I walk into the kitchen - a more 'polite' smile than genuine. She lacks age lines and consistently reminds me of an eighteen year old.

"Morning, Gabriella," She says, chipper and chummy, "Sleep well?" Her eyes shift back to the eggs in the frying pan.

"Yeah . . . of course." I respond, trying to forget about the nightmare I had.

"Oh, that's good. I wouldn't want you to feel uncomfortable or anything, you know? Just make yourself at home." She turns around and winks at me before continuing with breakfast.

Maybe she and Troy should meet after all. . .

"I hope you like eggs and bacon. I've always heard I'm a pretty good cook. My papa was a chef, after all." She chuckles, and when she says 'papa', I realize she may have some southern heritage to her.

She flips the eggs onto the plate and heads over towards the table, putting down a plate of what looks like delicious eggs and bacon strips.

"Thank you. . . I do like them." I respond, timidly, as I accept the plate.

She goes to grab her own and then takes a seat across from me.

"That's good. Your father just loves them - can't get enough of them." She grins about this, skittishly.

She seems to fade out with this statement, as if going into a daydream-like mode. I realize the realism of her feelings for my father.

The eggs and bacon are both extraordinary.

"They're very good." I try to maintain a civil and open-minded attitude towards her.

She seems to be afraid of the silence.

"Well, little darling, I'm glad you like them." She seems sincere about this and cracks her smile - her eyes representing the color of dark chestnut.

She's gorgeous - her face texture, perfect, her chin, perfect. I'm again, curious to whether she's a model or not. I personally am a bit jealous of her features, and the way she can say 'little darling' and get away with it.

"Is that my little girl in there?" A deep, masculine voice interrupts our conversation.

My eyes lift up to face my father - his chin jagged in a dark beard, his hair looking a bit out of date. It's as if he has aged more than the last time I seen him. I missed him though.

I smile at the sight of him, ignoring the hurt I feel inside about him and my mother.

"Papa. . ."

It's a mixture of excitement and rage that gets me up off of my feet and over towards him. He wraps his large arms around me and I cuddle my nose into the nook of his neck. I want so badly just to yell at him for the pain he has inflicted on Mama. I realize what is done is done though, time cannot be altered. I must abide with these changes, though I am stubborn.

He smells like licorice, something I always remember. Though he is always warm and I always feel secure in his grasp. Besides Troy, he is the only person I can sincerely hug and feel comfort through it.

"I'm so sorry about everything, pumpkin." He says to me, one of his hands resting at the tip of my hair.

He says it so lowly that Brooklyn does not hear.

"I didn't know how to feel - we kept on fightin', things got rough. I loved your mother, but sometimes, you just gotta let go. It's not fair, and what I did definitely wasn't . . . but I'm sorry, Gabriella." He whispers into my ear.

I want to ignore his apology and yell at him, but I don't. My mother is not happy. I know this. That's what hurts. But at the same time, when my father was with her, he wasn't happy. He thinks Brooklyn is good for him. She seems good for him. No one is better for him than my mother though, right? I feel torn between my mother's pain and my father's happiness. I want to face this with little difficulty. I already have enough to deal with.

"Its okay, Papa. I understand . . . she's really pretty." I tell him, forcing the words out of my mouth.

He seems confused by my response, "Really? Gabriella, do you like her? I think you'll love her once you get to know her."

"Of course." We break out of the embrace and I give him a weak, contrived smile.

"Greg? Babe, is that you?" The term 'babe' coming from Brooklyn sounds innocent as a rose, but at the same time, makes me slightly nauseous.

Awkwardly, I follow behind my father as he walks over to his new girlfriend and gives her a peck on the cheek. She smiles in response. I watch him as he heads to get some bacon and eggs, a look of satisfaction prominent on his face.

"Mm smells delicious." He compliments, putting the eggs and bacon onto a plate and heading towards the table.

The two seem obviously infatuated with each other as they begin to eat breakfast together.

"Gabriella, you can have some more if you like." Brooklyn adds to me, a sweet smile on her face.

I freeze as my father shifts his eyes over to me. They both look to me, suggestively.

"Actually. . . I um, was going to ask you, Papa," I look to my father, skeptically. "I . . . was hoping I could go to a party tonight."

I look to the ground, unsure of how he will respond.

He glances up, his mouth full with breakfast. He looks a bit surprised at first, and I can understand why. I am not usually invited to parties - I am not usually involved in any social activity, at all.

"Who's?" He asks his eyes still on me.

"Um . . . her name is Taylor McKessie. She's a very nice person, Papa. My friend, Troy, he would be picking me up-"

"Troy?" My father raises an eyebrow. "A boy?"

"Yes," I suck in breath, nervously, "he's not like most, Papa, even Mama knows. . ." I realize the awkwardness that appears from this comment.

"You would like him."

"Gabriella . . . if he's anything like that Eric boy-"

"No, not at all, I promise." I cut him off, desperate for my father's approval.

"He's amazing, Dad." The words come out without force at all - they're just there, soft and genuine.

My father's eyes become unreadable.

"Well . . . he has a really nice ride, Greg, I mean . . . he has one of those Audi R8's, I mean my God," Brooklyn looks to me with an understanding smile, "Those things are _expensive_."

I'm surprised that it's almost as if she's trying to help me out.

"I seen him park on the side of the road, dropping Gabriella off. I thought some celebrity was coming over." She chuckles.

"Well . . . as long as he's trustworthy. If he lets anything happen to you. . ." My father gives me threatening eyes. "I would like to meet him though, and look at that car." He chuckles, nodding to his girlfriend who just gives him a wink.

Yeah, they definitely need to meet Troy.

* * *

"You should have just yelled really loud into the phone - I would've woken up." Troy's lighthearted laugh eases my mind from the other end of the phone.

"With all that snoring, I'm positive you wouldn't have heard me." I joke, smiling.

"_Snoring_? Aw, man." He sucks in his breath, and then breathes it out, jestingly, "Do I actually?"

"Horribly, it was like, an old man." I can't help but laugh as I tease him.

"Hey, seriously, _do_ I? Because that's kind of embarrassing. . ."

"That's _so_ embarrassing - more embarrassing than getting new shoes and bragging about them." I chuckle at the memory and can't help but giggle as I imagine him making a face of annoyance at the comment.

"Ha, ha, _ha. _So, am I going to have to drive over there and kidnap you tonight or can I actually come up to the door and not act like I'm in the CIA?" He asks, chuckling.

"You can come to the door. I talked to my dad, he wants to meet you, I guess. Brooklyn thinks you have a cool car. I think you're going to _have_ to come in. She has a wink, it's kind of weird."

"Are you serious? You know what, forget everything I said, your dad's new girlfriend seems cool. Seriously, El, you're gonna have to like her." He sounds like he's joking. "And are you implying that people who wink are weird?"

I giggle, "No, I think you two would be perfect for each other. Well, except for the fact that she's like forty yet looks like she's twenty."

"She must be hot then. Give her a chance." Troy persists, sounding a bit amused.

I roll my eyes, "You and my father are one in the same - pigs."

"Aw, El, you know I'm just messing around. I think you're really hot too." I can envision him smiling.

My eyes drift to the ground as my face grows hot, "So . . . um, what time are you coming over?"

"Uh . . . probably around six, six thirty. Is that alright with you?"

"Yeah, that sounds fine." I reply, biting my bottom lip. "So um. . . I'll talk to you later then?"

"Alright, sounds good. . ." He drifts off, as if he wants to say something else.

"Bye?" I'm not sure how to end this.

"Later, El. . ." That alone puts a smile on my face as I click 'END' on the cell phone.

I think I was in the bathroom about all day getting ready.

I straighten my hair for the first time in the longest time. It seems to go to my shoulders practically. I feel this is almost a success for me. With my eyes, I darken them with eye shadow and eyeliner. I feel a bit more confidence from this. When it comes to clothes, I have absolutely nothing. I rummage through my suitcase; desperate for something I can wear to impress Troy. My constant obsession with his hungry eyes, it's ridiculous.

My hands fall to a dress I have not worn since my younger sister's funeral. It seems to remind me of that dark, empty, sorrowful day. I almost cry just feeling the texture of it. I remember the tears that were shed, the words that were spoken. They never even found her body, yet they confirmed she was dead. It seems so ignorant how they just gave up on her. If she is alive though, she's probably with Earl somewhere, him torturing her like he tortures me, like he haunts my dreams, how he ruins my life in every possible way.

I find no other dress that seems formal, so I take this strapless plaid, blue and black dress that rides up to the top of my thighs, exposing more leg than usual, and I put it on. I stare at myself in the mirror for what seems like hours, straightening the dress, finalizing my makeup. I just want to look beautiful - just for _him_.

By six o'clock, I am downstairs, my legs shaking, my heart jumping out of my chest, my hands sweating. I'm not even sure why I'm so jittery - I know him so well. This isn't the first time we've done something together. I feel like a child again for getting excited all over about being with him.

"Well, isn't someone all dressed up for the evening? You look gorgeous, Gabriella." My father says, as he notices me before heading into the den. (Yes, Brooklyn has a den . . . can things get much better?).

"Thanks, Papa." I try to give him a more composed smile - it just falls and I become edgy again.

What will he think of me? Do I look okay? I hope this dress isn't too tight on me, or something. I hope my hair doesn't look stupid when it's straight. I hope Brooklyn and Papa like him. I hope he likes them. I hope everything goes well at the party.

My jumbled, neurotic thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. I feel butterflies in my stomach as I try to push away the pessimistic thoughts and hope for the better.

My legs are still shaking as I walk up to the door. My hands tremble as I twist the doorknob, revealing Troy Bolton.

I feel dumb immediately. He looks so laidback. He's wearing a plaid long-sleeved shirt that is rolled up to the end of his elbows. It's blue, red, and white, and I assume it's Hollister since there's a tiny bird on the pocket. His pants are dark, not-so-straight-legged. He wears a white belt, and I notice he abandoned his vans for the night. (Sad story, yes I know.) His hair is out of his face for once - his bangs tossed up, revealing his light blue eyes. He looks great, but that is never a surprise. He stands with his hands placed in his jean pockets, his eyes looking up to me in awe - the look I wanted so desperately.

"Wow, you look . . . wow, Gabriella." He looks me up and down.

His eyes stop at my eyes and I feel a lump form inside my stomach as that dazzling smile appears along with his white set of teeth.

"You look . . . great." His voice softens at the end of the statement and I can see the sincerity in his eyes.

"This must be Troy Bolton." My dad's turbulent voice interrupts our eye contact and I turn a little to notice him and Brooklyn standing behind us.

He looks at Troy unsurely, as if he doesn't know how to take him in yet. Brooklyn has her arms folded and she is also taking in Troy's appearance.

Troy advances towards my dad, cautiously, but a smile on his face, "It's great to finally meet you, Mr. Montez." The confidence that extrudes from him . . . it's unlike anything I have ever witnessed.

He doesn't seem nervous at all when he shakes my father's hand. His smile never fades.

"Brooklyn, that's a rather high-priced car you've got there," Brooklyn whips out her hand after Troy finishes shaking my father's hand.

She gives him a peculiar smirk as he shakes her hand, "I'm hoping your daddy's the one who fixed you up with such a treasure - wouldn't want a kid like you walking around with a bunch of cash. That's just dangerous."

She sounds almost serious and I feel a strange, awkward vibe enter the room.

I watch Troy with curiosity, worried of his reaction. However, he only sees passed this and chuckles, "Thanks, yeah, it was my dad's, trust me. It's nice to meet you." He's still polite and pleasant, even after pulling out of the hand contact.

He stands by me; I can feel a sense of uneasiness coming from him now. I notice he's rubbing at his arms and shifting his eyes around the room.

"So, you'll be in charge of my daughter for the night, eh?" My father gives Troy a look that can send any man's pride down within a second.

I'm shocked Troy does not run for the door.

"Uh, yes sir," Troy eyes pivot over towards me, "I can assure you that nothing will happen to Gabriella, nothing at all. I'll make sure of it, one hundred percent, Sir."

"It takes one second," My father mumbles, frowning at Troy, "you seem like an alright kid though. I apologize for making you feel uncomfortable if I have, I just care a lot for my daughter and I know there's a lot of things out to get her in the world."

The thought of Earl simply gives me a vile feeling.

"I understand, completely. I know exactly what you're talking about, and I won't let anything or anyone touch her. She'll be back before ten, if you want, I can make it earlier." Troy's persistency towards my father's approval is somewhat cute.

"And you're driving her in that car? Does it . . . run, all the time?" My father's unconvinced eyes move towards the window, glancing at the sensational Audi R8 that is placed on the side of the road.

"Greg, that car is worth more than my house, I'm sure it'll run. You remember this part, right? How'd you feel when you got surveyed by the father? Let them go, babe. You're making them feel awkward." Brooklyn chips in, elbowing my father, who looks stiff and dead-set on giving Troy a hard time.

My father sighs heavily, "Yeah, I do remember. . . I hated the overprotective, obnoxiously concerned father. And yet, here I am, becoming him. Well, I must ask one thing before I let you take my daughter out, Troy. Do you do sports?"

The heated room suddenly becomes more breathable. I notice Troy practically exhaling a breath in relief. I cannot help but giggle lightly as I look down to my hideous flats that I must have gotten at a garage sale. I can't remember.

"Yeah, I love sports." Troy looks more comfortable at this topic, even his voice seems louder. "I play basketball at East High, actually."

"Oh, really? So you're a basketball person, eh?" My father seems to have loosened up a bit. "How good?"

"Team captain, sir. . . I'm pretty good, I think." He's so cute when he shyly says this, his face turning a bit red.

I have never seen him so timid.

"Team captain, huh? That is pretty good, the best, right? You like any teams?" My father asks and I notice Brooklyn and I both roll our eyes in unison.

Troy's eyes seem to light up at the thought of basketball teams, "Actually, I only have one team really, and that's most-definitely the Lakers." He's grinning like a child now - as if he has just made some sort of accomplishment.

He's proud.

And when my father breaks out into a huge, approbating smile, I know nothing is standing in the way of me going out with Troy tonight.

"Lakers . . . the best, just the best. Did you see the game against Memphis?" My father asks, looking as enthralled as Troy.

"Aw, yeah, that was _sick_, Bynum was awesome." Troy's tone completely changes and it seems he's in complete 'guy-mode', if you understand what I am talking about.

He bites hit bottom lip excitedly and the nervousness he may have felt has vanished within seconds.

"You think they're gonna beat Utah?" My dad, he's in the same mode as Troy is in.

They are conversing more like children, like little boys. I glance over to Brooklyn who seems to be chuckling and shaking her head. _Boys_.

I've never heard Troy say the word 'sick' before.

"I dunno . . . it's always crazy, Utah's pretty good. I'm LA all the way though."

"Of course, the Lakers are quite possibly one of the greatest teams in basketball," My dad drags on, "you ever go to a game?"

"Yeah, I used to live in Santa Barbara; we'd head down to LA sometimes. My dad's a huge Lakers fan." Troy responds, charismatic as ever.

"Well then . . . you're definitely alright in my book then, kid." My father seems to like Troy immensely now, as he playfully slaps Troy's shoulder while walking passed.

Troy seems surprised but pleased as a smile appears across his lips.

"You stay around long enough; we could go to a game or something."

Troy blinks, looking even more exhilarated by the idea. "Yeah, that sounds great, really great, actually."

"Well, it was nice meeting you Troy. You two look cute together, by the way." Brooklyn adds, as my father disappears back into the house.

My eyes drift up to Troy who seems to blush a bit, "Aw, well, uh . . . we try. . ." He scratches the back of his head gawkily as she chuckles and heads into the house also.

Troy opens the front door for me, exposing the darkness of the night. I shiver as I walk out the door, realizing I didn't think about bringing a coat. At night, Albuquerque can have rather mild temperatures.

I head towards Troy's fantastic car. It's so wonderful. The moonlight seems to inspirit its silver color.

"Hey, what do you think _you're_ doing?" Troy's voice plays across my ears from a small distance away.

"I'm getting into your car, what do you think, you goober?" I chuckle, opening the car door, ignoring his overdramatic gasp, as if I am doing something horribly wrong.

Within seconds, he is in the driver's seat, his eyes not facing me, the moon's milky color gliding across the ridges of his face, making him look even more extraordinary than he already is. For a second, everything is still and quiet and neither of us say a word. I can see the faint trace of a smile on his lips.

"I was gonna open the door for you." His eyes meet mine finally, breaking the quietude between us.

"You and my dad got along way too well back there." I chuckle, now smiling.

"I think your dad is pretty cool, actually. At first I was petrified to be honest; I mean . . . he was totally glaring at me, El. I thought he was gonna like, grab a shotgun and shoot me with it."

I giggle at his insane assumption, "You're officially cool with him. You mentioned the Lakers. I completely forgot how big of a fan he is." I roll my eyes. "But. . . I don't know how you do it."

He chuckles and leans closer towards me, his light blue eyes becoming the only thing I can look into, "You really look great, Gabriella. I mean . . . you look beautiful." He whispers, the words repeating in my head over and over.

He moves in even closer so our lips can touch - he's so gentle and heartfelt. Our kiss only lasts a few seconds.

He starts up the car and puts it into drive. He then gingerly rests his hand upon my thigh and I feel a comfort from that alone.

"I feel pretty cool right now. I might not have my new shoes on, but I'm sitting next to the most beautiful girl in the world. Everything will be perfect tonight, El, I promise."

And maybe I'm the only one who believes tonight may be too good to be true. 


	22. Chapter Twenty Two: We Go Down Together

Something is bound to happen.

I can feel it.

The air - it's too wondrous. It dances through my hair, the faint aroma of nature engaging my nostrils. The night is still, calm, and tranquil. From Troy's car, you hear nothing. It's peaceful. Everything is at ease. It's as if for once the world is asleep.

He's beautiful.

My gosh, how I want to move my hands through his hair, lose myself in his kiss, in his touch. He has this way of absentmindedly making me want him. It's in the way he bites his bottom lip while concentrating on the road. It's in the way he licks his lips so subtly. It's indescribable - he's an angel, in disguise, I am certain.

My legs are shaking. I am restless to the extreme power. _Nothing_ will ruin this night, I promise myself. For some reason, the idea of being around people does not matter - the idea of being around him does. Why is he such a big deal to me? Others watch him but I feel they do not think of him like I do. They may think he's cute or whatnot, but they don't _obsess_ over his very facial expressions, the way he walks, talks, smiles.

I love him.

Yes, I know this. There is no denying that I'd put out my very life for this young man. He gives me hope, gives me something to look forward to. I feel I can achieve anything with him standing beside me. He is my tower. _He_ is my seventh heaven. There are emotions you can feel - they are beyond what you can explain. Whatever they say heaven is like. . . I wonder if I already know. To be in Troy Bolton's arms, it's something wonderful - something in my soul . . . something. . .

I break out of my thoughts, realizing we are now in Taylor's driveway.

Her house seems ordinary sized to me. It isn't as big as Brooklyn's. You can tell there is an upstairs though. It seems like an okay house to have a party at.

Troy immediately heads to the passenger seat to open the door for me.

I get out and receive a genuine smile from him, "Thank you."

"I can't get over how great you look," He says into my ear as I begin to follow him towards the door, "you look so beautiful, El."

He doesn't fail to make me smile, but I can tell he notices my hesitant eyes as we yield at the door.

"I . . . have a bad feeling. . ." I whisper, feeling it's stupid of me to say.

Shyly, I look into the pools of blue in front of me.

"Gabriella, everything's going to be fine," He sounds confident as he looks at me, "I promise."

It's funny how his eyes can convince me. I lose my worries when he plants the perfect kiss on my lips and then backs away, that smile still on his face.

He's so sweet - he winks at me, subtly, before ringing the doorbell. He then wraps his arm around my waist, protectively. I feel so much comfort - I feel so safe and secure with him by my side.

We hear footsteps, and it isn't long before Taylor shows up at the door, Chad awkwardly standing beside her.

"Hey! You guys showed up!" She seems elated; her golden eyes lightning up as she smiles widely.

She looks fantastic in a ruby-red sleeveless dress that rides to the bottom of her knees. Her hair is in small curls, as always.

"Gabriella, you look amazing!" She gushes, fully scrutinizing me.

I flush a bit, "Do you really think so? I thought it was a bit too much - I never wear my hair like this or clothes like-"

"Gabriella," Troy says from beside me, "stop talking - you look dead sexy."

My face seems to redden even more.

Taylor just laughs, "Really, you look great. Bolton, for a sweaty basketball player, you don't look so bad yourself." When she says this, Chad elbows her playfully from the side, pretending to be a bit offended.

Like a child, she sticks her tongue out at him.

"Why thank you, and for you being Taylor McKessie, you don't look so bad _your_self." Troy jests, as if teasing her.

Taylor acts as though she's about to get angry, but stops.

"Hey, I think Taylor McKessie _always_ looks hot." Chad adds, glancing towards Taylor, who just blushes.

"But, us sweaty basketball players . . . we've got it going on, right, Troy?"

Troy grins, "Of course, man." They pound fists with each other.

I'm chuckling, amused by them.

"Yeah, we like our men dirty and sweaty, right Gabriella?" Taylor winks at me.

I shuffle my feet, feeling heat in my cheeks again, ". . . Yeah, guess so."

"Oh, really?" Troy looks intrigued as he moves me closer to him, "I've got enough of that to go around."

I gasp at him, pushing him away, "Troy Bolton! I was joking. I imagine you shower once in awhile."

"Hardly - we're basketball players, I mean, look at Chad's hair, it never gets shampooed, and that's why it's so . . . Chad-like."

"Yeah, that's why Troy's hair always stays in the same spot." Chad tries to sound as serious as Troy.

"It happens." Troy confirms.

Taylor and I exchange eye rolls.

"Well, this dirty man here was helping me with the food. We're trying to have it ready by the time people arrive," Taylor breaks up the humorous tension, "obviously, not many people have. . ." she eyes the living-room, "make yourselves at home though - we've got a stereo, if you guys are up to dancing."

I can't help but notice the dangerous smirk appearing across her face as she suggests this.

"Sounds like a good time," Troy says, nudging me slightly, "we'll check it out."

I scratch the back of my neck, nervously.

"We'll be out when we're done with the food," Taylor gives us both a smile, "just don't . . . you know, break anything. I know you reckless basketball players are very hard on things."

She narrows her eyes at Troy.

"Ha, ha, ha," Troy takes my hand, "we'll be alright, McKessie. See you guys in a few."

"Later, hoops." Chad follows behind Taylor towards the kitchen.

We are in the middle of the living-room.

"Hoops?" I ask a bit entertained.

"It's kind of a nickname. . ." Troy responds, distractedly.

We are still hand-in-hand; his eyes are on the stereo.

"Cute, I could always call you that."

"That's just weird, I mean, you're a girl." He acts as if this is the most outrageous thing he's ever heard.

"Oh, I didn't know." I laugh lightly. "Why is that so weird?"

"It's like a basketball nickname . . . that'd be like, me calling you . . . road runner or something."

I'm laughing at him, "Road runner? Why are we going down to cartoons now?"

"Say you were in track, there's no doubt you'd feel extremely awkward if I started calling you road runner." He narrows his eyes at me, as if trying to prove a point.

"That's only because I'd be seeing a cartoon in my mind. Really, that's a horrible comparison. You'd have to be calling me miles or something."

He looks at me incredulously, "You _do_ realize how lame this conversation has gotten, don't you?"

I giggle as I look into his ocean-blue eyes, "Troy, this is not the first time we've had a weird conversation."

"Don't say it. . ." He pleads, desperately. "I know what you're thinking. . ."

"I'm going with . . . the shoe conversation?" I grin, proudly.

He groans, leaning his head back so it faces the ceiling, "Dang it, Gabriella."

"I thought it was cute. Let's just face it though, I'll never forget it."

His eyes move back to me, a small smile forming across his lips, "Just for that, you're gonna dance with me."

"Troy!" I fold my arms, "I don't even know how to dance."

"It's not that hard," He moves closer towards me, making me breathless.

He then grabs onto both of my hands.

He begins to sway his body, mostly to the rhythm of the music, his eyes still on me, his tongue running across his bottom lip, driving me into madness, "just go with it."

My jaw drops. He is . . . perfect, isn't he?

"You . . . you can dance!" I look to him, stunned. "Is there nothing you _can't_ do?"

He just chuckles at me, turning me in a circle, "This isn't even really dancing. I'm just going with it. You could too."

Suddenly, he dips low to the floor - bringing me in front of him, the back of my head practically to the floor. His eyes are on me, the blue in them looking more electrifying than ever. I'm mesmerized by him, by the way he looks down to my lips. I feel lightning within me as he gently pushes his lips onto mine. Again, I am caught up - in the burning passion of Troy Bolton. He's just the best and worst drug in the world. He's the ultimate addiction.

We break apart, realizing there are people entering the living-room, bizarre looks on their faces. I have to find oxygen after departing from him - every single kiss seems to leave me airless.

His blue eyes are on me, delight and infatuation immersed within them. I notice Chad and Taylor are now in the living-room again.

"Are you hungry?" He asks in my ear, so that others cannot tune us out. His breath tickles my ear.

"Sort of . . . are you a professional with Taylor's foods?" I ask, smiling teasingly.

He blows a raspberry, "You're ridiculous, as if I actually sample all of Taylor's foods, God no." He gives me a playful smile, "Her desserts are to die for, El - to _die_ for."

I laugh audibly.

"I'll be right back, alright?" He holds onto my hands until we cannot hold any further.

I watch him as he gracefully walks to the kitchen. Still, I cannot keep my eyes off of him. I feel like I'm dreaming. He's like a miracle - a real, moving miracle. I am beginning to believe in God, in heaven, in hell. It seems anything is possible.

I walk over to Taylor and Chad, who are talking to Kelsi and Martha.

They smile and say hello to me.

"Taylor, where's your bathroom?"

Taylor's eyes shift to my face and she holds a friendly smile, Chad's hand placed around her waist, "It's in the hallway before the kitchen, second to last door, you can't miss it." She informs me.

I cannot help but feel delight from her and Chad's new situation. They seem perfect for each other. And she has been waiting for him for so long. I can tell they love each other. It's in the way they look at each other and the way she seems to become so much happier with him beside her.

I head towards the hallway and stop in the middle of it. I don't know why, but something seems to make the hairs on my back rise up in fear. I ignore my pitiful reactions, realizing I am just being a paranoid child, and head towards the bathroom. Before I can reach my destination, however, I feel something, well, some _one_ grab a hold of me. They grab me by the waist, and a hand covers my mouth, muffled screams projecting from me.

I am losing myself - petrified of who this is. I cannot breathe correctly. I cannot make noises. I feel trapped in someone's grasp, and they are hurting me from the tight pressure to my stomach. I don't know who it is. I can't turn around, and they have not spoken yet. My insides are trembling in hysteria. I suddenly wish I never moved from that spot in the living-room.

Within a second, this mystery person forcefully prompts me into the bathroom. They slam the door and it is all black besides a faint light which is plugged into the wall - like a night light, possibly. And then, the person pushes me into the corner of the room - my back crashing against the wall, nearby the shower. I feel as if I have just broken my back. Tears of pain race down my face and I feel myself hyperventilating again. I attempt to stay collected. That does not work.

And then, I can make out his face. He reveals himself.

I feel my heart stop - my lip quivering in terror. My entire body seems to freeze and then come back alive in nothing but jolts of fearfulness. Just seeing those demonic, lifeless eyes again, it reminds me of all the reasons I wanted to avoid him tonight.

"Y-you . . . you weren't invited." I whisper, sobs muffling my voice.

He only smirks in response, pinning me against that wall, his lips tantalizing, "Oh Gabby," I feel the desperate need to vomit as he says this, "I was bound to find out, no?"

I cannot speak - I am hiccupping from the panic.

"It's too bad that he's not here to save you, eh?" He asks, the smirk never faltering, "You think he's your Prince Charming, don't you, Gabby?" He seems entertained. "You know damn well that ain't gonna last . . . why are you playing with him?"

My voice seems lost within the trauma of emotions I am feeling.

"You know you're mine, we are _destiny_," When he says this, I feel my right foot kick up and push him by the stomach.

He becomes extremely angry and before I can react appropriately, he grabs my foot, practically pulls it out of it's socket, covering my mouth, and leans so close to me, I can only smell his disgusting breath - tequila and cigarettes, "bitch, you don't know what you're dealing with. Either you are mine, or you say to hell with your life, and Troy's too." He grimaces.

"He'll be next. . . I had to take care of that ugly mother of yours first."

My eyes widen and I attempt to break free of him - he's too strong.

"I don't understand how your parents are so damn repulsive, yet you, you're so beautiful. She didn't put up much of a fight though, weak little thing, kind of like you." He smirks disgustingly, and trails his aggressive, snake-like tongue down my neck. Vomit approaches my mouth; I want to just run away.

"Like I said," He's back at my ear, "your pretty boy better _watch_ his back, him and that girly tan of his." He snorts, and shoves me back into the wall - I feel myself crash against it violently, while he departs from the bathroom.

"Good luck, sweetie." He's so eerie - goose bumps appear at my back as he slams the bathroom door, leaving me there.

I am lying against the wall - my eyes widened, tears falling down them. My leg feels like its broken, but I feel I can get up okay. My back feels like it's been cracked one million times. I feel so vulnerable and weak - I feel like a small, four year old. My vision has gone hazy and I can barely see anything. I feel a bitter, disgusting emptiness from the stench he left within the bathroom walls. I am in fear of everything, of him, of losing Troy, of losing my mom. . .

Mom. . .

I remove the evidence of my insanity and bolt out of that bathroom. My mother may be in danger. She may be dead. My heart begins to leap out of my chest instantaneously - fear and worry engulf me. Tears are built up in my eyes. I must go see if she's okay, I must find her. I am in deep worry. I am walking in circles - my head is spinning. I find myself in the living-room again, searching for someone . . . anyone. . . Troy. . .

Faces are blurry - people do not matter. My chest feels it's about to explode in hysteria. I'm freaking out. She cannot die. I will not let her. He cannot do this. He cannot. I just need to find Troy. Troy. I _need_ Troy.

I feel as if I'm in some nightmare, looking endlessly for the blue-eyed brunette. I just need him. I am desperate. My mother needs me. I need to get out of here. I cannot do this without Troy though.

My largest phobia is happening - I cannot find Troy.

Now I am really scared. I feel dizziness, everything becoming hardly relevant. I do not care for anything but to find Troy. He is the one thing I need the most - my tower, my strength, my thunder.

I am breathing so heavy. My head is crying out his name and tears are filling in my eyes. I feel a void progressing within my chest and I am so on the brink of insanity. Troy, please, come to me. I need reassuring blue eyes. I need his arms. I need his touch, his care, his _anything_.

I step backwards, about to pass out from my overwhelming bundle of emotions.

"Gabriella?" My lips tremble as I hear his voice.

Arms protract themselves around me and I turn to face him, blue eyes filled with concern, "Gabriella, what's wrong?"

"Troy. . ." I am now crying - a mess. People notice, they stare a bit, but do not make comments.

"Earl . . . h-he . . . was in the bathroom. . . I. . . God, Troy . . . help me." I look to him, desperate, "I'm so scared. . . I think he hurt my mom."

"El. . ." He holds me up from the shoulders, his eyes brimming with confusion, "What are you talking about? He wasn't invited. He can't be here. . ."

"He is!" I exclaim, "He forced me into the bathroom, Troy . . . he-"

"Oh my God . . . you've got to be kidding me."

Troy's expression changes from worry to complete horror, "What did he say? Did he touch you, hurt you in any way?"

"Yes," I cry out, "yes. . . Troy . . . he wants to kill me; he's going to kill me!"

He suddenly breaks hand contact, a look of panic appearing in his eyes as he restlessly moves his hands through his hair, "He won't. . . he can't. . . I won't. . Let him." He says with aggression.

"I think he hurt my mom! Troy, please, I need to see, I need to make sure she's okay. . She could be dead."

His eyes meet mine, so much concern, "Gabriella, are you sure? I mean . . . he mentioned your mom?"

"Yes. . ." Fearfully, I answer, "she may be dead."

"No. . ." He objects, "I won't let that happen - it's gonna be alright." He says it so forcefully; I don't believe he's completely positive about this.

"We have to see if she's alright. We'll head back to your trailer, alright?" He kneels to meet my eyes and I take a look into his eyes, believing he may be right, but I am shaking so badly, I don't know. . .

"Gabriella," His voice is so soft and gentle. He strokes his hand across my cheek, "I promise I won't let anything happen to you or your mom, okay? Believe me, alright? We're gonna work this all out . . . please, calm down, El. . . ."

I am still shaking and crying as he pulls me into his muscular arms and kisses the top of my head. For a second, I forget everything in the world except for Troy and his intoxicating smell. For a second, I can only think of him. And just for that second, everything is okay.

"Okay. . . I-I believe you." I whisper, trying to sound reassuring as he broke off the embrace.

He is quick on his feet and he slips his hand behind my back, hastily pushing me towards Taylor and Chad.

"Hey guys, we're gonna head out - it's an emergency," Troy says to them, as I look away - not wanting them to see the tears in my eyes, "sorry man." He nods to Chad.

"Uh . . . it's alright, hope you guys sort things out. . ." Chad answers, skeptically.

I can tell him and Taylor are curious about what is going on and why we are in such a hurry.

"Thanks, see you man." Troy gives them one final look before sending him and me out the door.

He runs to the passenger seat to let me in and then back to the driver side.

We both jump into the car in so much haste it seems impossible.

I am afraid . . . so afraid. I cannot lose my mother. I cannot.

I feel worry and concern tying knots into my stomach and I feel a sudden sickness coming over me. I inhale sharply as I feel Troy's hand fall to my leg, comfortingly,

"Gabriella, trust me."

I realize we are going about 80 miles per hour on a normal road.

"You cannot go this fast."

"El, if we go down right now, we go down together." He whispers, his eyes back on the road.

It is not long before we arrive to the trailer that I hate to label as my home. I rush out before Troy can and I hear him yell out my name, saying something along the lines that "It may be dangerous!" I do not care. I need to see if she is okay. She has to be okay.

But as I approach the trailer, I feel my stomach drop. My knees shake. I let out a small sob in response to what I am seeing right in front of me.

"Oh my God. . ." I hear Troy whisper from behind me.

Oh my God didn't even sum up this. If there is a God, I hope he can save me - save all of us, actually.

Across the front of the trailer, graffiti spelled out the words:

_TROY BOLTON IS NEXT. _


	23. Chapter Twenty Three: Worth It

I cannot blink.

My eyes linger onto the cursed words. I feel my legs giving way - I feel so much fear I am beginning to lose my balance. The air around me suddenly seems stale, stealing away my oxygen. I cannot breathe. I'm afraid I may pass out. But there is something that overpowers everything. It's the thought of my mother.

I find myself racing, darting towards the trailer. I hear Troy yell out my name - its foreign to hear his voice sound so alarmed, so terrified, as if I am approaching trouble. I believe I may be. But that does not matter. I am desperate to make sure my mother is alright, to make sure that she is alive, still breathing. Without her, I cannot live. She is my support. After Stella died, she and I formed a bond that no one will ever break. Earl cannot shatter this. This is one thing he cannot get a grip on. No, never.

My eyes become cloudy as I race into the trailer, shaking from the idea of the door being wide open. He was here, that is for certain. I worry he may still be. I avoid the sudden pounding of my heart and concentrate on the priority - finding my mother. I feel tears approach my eyes, stinging them and veiling my vision.

"Mama," I cry out, "Mama, answer me! Answer me." My tone is desperate and I feel a void forming inside my chest as I frantically look around. Memories hit me like a hard brick. I remember my first steps - when my parents were a happy couple. I remember when my mother was the only one I could turn to when people brought me down. And now, she is gone.

"Gabriella?" A weak voice calls out.

I feel my heart clank against my chest violently, "Mama? Mama! Where are you?"

"I'm in here, dear." Her voice sounds broken and hoarse, but I know she's alive.

She's on the hard, kitchen tile, battered and bruised. Her eyes are bloodshot and it seems she's been crying for some time now. Her hair is tangled and messy. She looks nothing short of a mess. And she is holding onto her leg, a painful expression on her face. I know instantly she is hurt somehow.

"Mama, I'm here," I tell her breathlessly, racing to her side, "What happened?"

"Gabriella," She seems short of energy, "I think I hit my head . . . h-he was here, Earl. You need to get away from here - he's after us." A small tear slips from her eye and I feel a sudden throbbing inside my chest.

"Mama, we're okay, we're gonna be okay," I promise her, kneeling down beside her, "we're going to get you back to health, okay? I swear." I lightly kiss her forehead, reassuringly.

"Is she alright?" A voice inquires from behind me.

We both shift our eyes over to Troy, who is now standing behind us, his hands casually placed into his pockets. He looks fatally concerned. I sense the shakiness of his voice and the panic-stricken look in his eyes. So badly, I want this look to vanish. I wish I never got him involved in this.

"I think her leg is broken," I respond, my voice cracking, "and she hit her head."

"I'll call the ambulance." He suggests, pulling out his cell phone.

I look back to my frightened mother, "Hear that, Mama? Everything is going to be okay."

She touches my face, giving me a meaningful expression, "You need to be safe."

"I will be fine," I tell her, "don't worry about me."

"I don't feel so well. . ." She whispers, holding onto her forehead. Her lip quivers and she suddenly doesn't look so well.

"Mama? Mama!" I cry out, desperate for her response. "Talk to me!"

"Honey . . . you be safe." She repeats, thickly.

By now, Troy is making his way over to us, "Gabriella, the ambulance is here." As if on cue, red sirens are visible from behind him.

I move away from my mother, my eyes never leaving her. She looks so helpless, so vulnerable. I have never seen her so beaten. I close my eyes tightly and turn away, unable to look any further. I crash into a hard figure and I feel two arms wrap around me, comfortingly. I feel myself sobbing into his chest and I cannot stop. It's between the fear and the heartache. I take in his scent, losing myself in Troy Bolton's embrace. My throat is dry and he moves his hands down my hair, magically, almost soothing, "Gabriella," He says into my ear, "Its okay, she's going to be okay." The heated tears pour down faster at his statement, "El, we've got this," he moves out of the embrace, meeting my eyes, "look at me," His hesitant eyes are now confident, determined, optimistic as always, "we're gonna get through this - your mom, you, me, _he_ can't hurt us, we're in this together, Gabriella, and nothing can break that apart." His eyes are so honest, so truthful. "I'll take you to the hospital - everything will work out. . . I promise."

"I can't lose her. . ." I whimper, biting my bottom lip roughly.

He leans in so close to where our foreheads are touching. His eyes close, "You're a wildcat now, and you have to be strong. And you know damn well that I'm right here with you, and I'm not gonna let anything happen to you or your mom. You _know_ that."

I pressure my lips onto his, breathing deeply, "Let's go." He accepts the gesture, meeting my lips softly for a second - his beauty lingering on my lips for just a second. But it's enough to give me hope, to give me faith.

* * *

My hand fumbles with the car door. I am so caught up in my somber emotions I cannot open it. Troy makes his way over towards me and opens it for me. He brushes his hand against my back, "Come on."

I hesitantly slide into the passenger seat while he makes his way to the driver's seat. He turns on the car and shifts the gear into drive. I inhale sharply as we slowly leave my poverty-stricken neighborhood behind.

"I guess . . . he wants to kill me now." Troy finally speaks up, a worried tone evident in his voice.

"He . . . he thinks I belong to him." I mumble, uncomfortably.

"But you don't." Troy states, rigidly. "God. . . I could just . . . kill him."

"Troy, please," I beg, my eyes glancing over to him, "I just . . . want this to end. I should have never gotten you involved in all of this."

"Don't say that," He gives me serious eyes, "don't say that, Gabriella." He almost pleads this, his eyes holding some sort of desperation.

"You're innocent," I shake my head, "you don't deserve this."

"Maybe not," He says, contemplatively, "I don't really care what I deserve. My feelings for you are real - I'm _not_ going away," He seems to tighten his grip on the steering wheel, "Do you know how fast my heart is beating right now, Gabriella?" His eyes are harshly on the road. He grabs my hand, placing it onto his heart. I feel a jolt inside at the sudden feel of his trembling heart. It seems impossible - it's beating so fast that I become speechless. He sighs, "I'm scared to death, but anything's worth it if it's for you."

I look at him, breathlessly, my hand still placed onto his heart which continues to thunder rapidly. His eyes have softened as he glances over to me, all signs of fury suddenly gone. He's so beautiful - even with all that is happening, I'm very susceptible around him. "It's all yours, if you want it to be, El." He whispers, his hand now holding mine. My hand feels so fragile in his. "I know it's not the time - but just know that." He coos, giving me a quick kiss on the forehead.

My worries are less mind-boggling and I feel a bit of relief from his words. I believe him when he says he's not going to leave me. I believe he's here for me. And he's going to help me through this - he's my guardian angel. Never have I believed in God, at least, not until I met Troy Bolton.

* * *

In the hospital, we find my mother in room 301. I become nervous - overwhelmed at the idea of her being in pain. Troy runs his finger down my jaw, affectionately, before heading towards the waiting room. I breathe in. Be strong.

She looks so lifeless - laying there, her eyes looking elsewhere. She's in a hospital gown and she has a bandage taped across her forehead. I walk into the room and she notices, instantly. She moves her hand, weakly, begging me to come to her.

I approach the hospital bed, pulling up a chair to sit in. It sits adjacent to her.

"How was your father's?" She asks - her voice gruff. She doesn't want to speak of her medical condition - she hates appearing feeble in any way, and she doesn't like hospitals anyways. I can tell she isn't enjoying her time here. She seems to glare at the walls while I find the words to say.

"Good . . . but, not great," I bite my bottom lip, "she's your average Mrs. Cleaver."

She laughs, a hollow, bitter laugh, "Of course. . ." She seems to slip into some sort of daydream, her eyes slanting towards the window, abstractly. "I'm guessing he found you, didn't he?"

"At the party. . . I . . . thought he was going to kill me," I reply, looking down, reliving the moment, "I was so scared, Mama." I realize I'm trembling.

She reaches out one of her hands and I rest my head onto her lap. Soothingly, she parts her hands through my hair, "He's going to stop, someday."

"_Someday_. . ." I mutter through muffled tears, "I'm afraid he's going to hurt Troy."

"Gabriella," She gives me troubled eyes, "you need to let him go . . . you can't let something happen to him - Earl is _very_ strong."

I choke on my tears unable to even process the thought. It seems to prick at my heart. I'm exasperated that she would suggest the idea, "I . . . can't do this, not without him." His arms are my haven.

"Gabriella," Her eyes are stern, "you are hurting him, terrifying him, he can't be your bodyguard, this begun with us, you are only complicating things-"

"Mama, I love him, okay!" I cry out, lifting my head up to meet her eyes. She seems stunned at my confession as I sniff my nose and attempt to clear the tears from my eyes. "I love him." The words play out on my lips again. "He knows the risks - he wants to take them."

"Does he?" She seems hesitant.

"He does," I look away, thoughtfully, "just please, try and understand he's all I have besides you, Mama. And he's the only thing that makes me sincerely happy. Do you know how good it feels . . . to laugh, to smile again? I'm no longer a broken, hopeless child . . . with him, I feel . . . strong, courageous, and bold."

"Well, do what you think is right then," She says, shortly, "Just keep yourself safe." She leans back, an aggrieved sigh coming from her lips. "The nurse said they have to run a few tests on my head to make sure it's okay . . . unfortunately they're waiting until tomorrow morning," Her eyes flicker back to me, "Go home, back to your father - stay with him and Brooklyn, you are safe there, away from Earl."

"_Safe_? Are you joking?" I look at her, incredulously, "Mama, look at you! I'm not leaving. I'll stay until morning." I clamp my lips together tightly.

"_No_, Gabriella, you're safer with your father," She seems frustrated, "and you need some sleep. Go."

"Goodnight, Mama." I head towards the hall. I refuse to leave her side tonight. I won't hangout in her room and pester her but I will stay as close as I can. I need to be here, with her. I can't go back to reality yet - she may not be okay. I swallow the large lump in my throat as I head towards the waiting room, trying to figure out what to tell Troy.

The waiting room is empty except for him. He sits on one of the violet-colored chairs, his eyes closed as if he is sleeping. For a second, I find myself just watching him, mesmerized by the innocence surrounding him. He is exceedingly perfect and nothing in the world could _ever_ push me away from him. His hair is still slightly spiked up messily. It amazes me how he can look so great all the time. I don't want to hurt him. I feel selfish for putting him in such a critical position. But for some reason, I feel like we're going to make it - we're going to make it out alive.

I'm exhausted but I feel a smile creep across my lips as I make my way towards him. Surprisingly, he's not sleeping, for his eyes open when I take the seat next to him. "So, is everything alright?" He asks, not bothering to meet my eyes as he stretches his arms out. He seems fatigued as well.

"I'm going to stay the night."

His head turns and he faces me with disbelieving eyes, "El, you've got to be kidding me, right?"

"Troy!" I sigh. "He's obviously after my mother too. I can't just leave her. She looks so helpless. He won't come here and hurt me, he can't."

"He _can_ - you look exhausted, Gabriella. You can't just camp out here all night. You can come back in the morning, I'll come with you."

"This is my _mom_, Troy," I snap at him, unable to restrain my temper, "I can't just leave her, not after what happened tonight."

"I'm not going to let you stay here all alone," He says, his eyes portraying nothing but stubbornness, "I told you - we go down together."

"You act as though I'm a child," I look away, irritated, "I can take care of myself."

"Tonight you could have died, just because I left you alone for a good five minutes," He reminds me, a serious look on his face, "I'm not gonna make that same mistake."

"I'm not going to leave my mom and you can't make me. I won't let her die; I won't let Earl get to her. I care about her, Troy. Don't you understand?" I can feel my tear ducts filling with water already and I try and blink them back, "He can't win." I turn my eyes away from him, folding my arms. The tears are now in my eyes and I look away, hoping he doesn't see me crying . . . again.

"Alright. . ." I feel his eyes on me, and I suddenly feel as if he's surrendered, "I guess I'm gonna be staying here with you then." He leans back in the chair, his head facing towards the ceiling.

"Troy, that's not necessary."

"You're overwhelmed. You need someone to tell you everything's going to be alright. You're scared. And you're crying . . . what's wrong?" He suddenly notices my wet eyes and I avert my gaze. His eyes soften, "Gabriella. Come on."

"I just. . . I don't know what to do. I always know what to do. I am tired. I wanted this to be a good night, I just . . . everything always turns into a disaster - my life is just a big mess." I mumble, moving a strand of hair behind my ear.

"If I could, I'd make everything better for you, El, I swear. . ." Troy says - his eyes sincere, "if I could give you any dream . . . just to make you happy, I would."

"I wanted to be famous," I wipe the tears from my eyes, "when I was a little girl, I'd always put on shows for my parents, I'd make up these little skits. . ." I laugh, an empty, emotionless laugh, "I was senseless . . . but I had ambitions."

"It's not senseless. . . I mean, I had them too," He sighs, subjectively, "I wanted to be like Kobe Bryant . . . you know he was like my hero . . . still is." He smiles, but it seems almost sad, "I guess I thought I'd become a professional basketball player someday or something."

"You don't want to?"

"Well . . . it's a bit far-fetched," He meets my eyes as I glance at him, unable to hide my interest; "I don't really . . . plan for my future. I'm just kind of taking it day-by-day."

"That's the best strategy," I look to the floor, "I've always imagined my life to turn out something like this. I knew he'd come back. . . I just didn't think someone would be sitting next to me, helping me through it." I shyly glance at him and realize he's looking at me; he seems to smile then casually pats his hand against his heart, winking at me. I feel a sudden delight by this.

He extends a hand out to me and I feel as if I'm being reeled in again. I accept his hand and he places me onto his lap, the position slightly uncomfortable at first. He situates me so my head is against the side of his neck. He wraps his protective, muscular-built arms around my stomach. My eyes close in response and I feel so much peace and happiness from his presence, I can't think of anything else.

"Troy," I open my eyes, his meeting my own. It seems they're even more powerful close-up. We are so close I can feel his breathing and the offbeat pulse of his heart. His eyes are inquisitive but I can see he's very satisfied by this intensity between us, "What . . . ever happened to your mom?" It seems to be the forbidden question - the one thing he's never spoken about. I feel pressure from asking it, worried it may depress him or annoy him, but I am so curious. . . I can't pull myself back.

He seems to tense up though and I can see his eyes avert away from me - a sudden emptiness taking them over. He looks uncomfortable, like he doesn't want to talk about it, but I so badly just want him to. He sighs, his breath tickling my face and taking me to somewhere near heaven.

"You don't have to talk about if you don't want to. . . I guess I'm just . . . curious."

"It's alright, it's just something I haven't . . . talked about," He admits, his voice quieter than usual. "She . . . passed away, a year ago." I feel a strong amount of sympathy as I notice him weaken, his grip on me loosening, "I mean, we were close . . . for awhile, you could say. And then when I was sixteen, her and my dad got divorced." He swallows - his eyes not on me. I can't help but watch him - dazed by him, always. "I guess she just fell out of love with my dad, you know . . . she moved away. I'd write her practically every day in e-mails. She promised she'd respond, but she never did." This must have been the hard part - he's breathing heavier and his heart rate is even more abnormal. His eyes are filled with emotion, so much I just want to hold him. "Last year I got a letter saying she died, I guess she had lung cancer. . . I had no idea." He bit on his bottom lip, roughly.

"What was she like? She must have been pretty, right?"

"Yeah . . . well, she was," Troy's eyes are painful, "its weird . . . but my mom, she was awesome, and I mean . . . it hit my dad so hard. . . I don't think he'll ever find another woman." I notice his hand slightly shaking from my stomach. Unconsciously, I find myself kissing the side of his cheek and cuddling closer to him. I just want to be as close to him as humanly possible, really.

He smiles down at me, the grief disappearing from his eyes. He kisses the top of my head, "You look exhausted, El, you should consider sleeping."

"Are you really going to stay with me?" I ask, looking up to him with hopeful eyes.

"Yeah, of course," He answers nonchalantly, "are you comfortable?" In his arms, I'm always comfortable. I nod, closing my eyes. "You can fall asleep, I'm not going anywhere, I promise." He whispers, kissing the side of my forehead. He breathes into my ear and I tilt my head against his shoulder just right. Everything seems at ease, everything is perfect. I want to stay like this forever. He traces my hand in a circular motion around his heart. "It's yours."

"How long?" I ask, my dreariness getting the best of me.

"Well, either until, one, you get sick of me, two, you find some other guy, or three, you meet Leonardo DiCaprio or Brad Pitt, whoever you're into."

I giggle, "Oh, well, maybe I like you better."

He smiles and it lights my entire heart on fire all at once - just looking at him makes my heart feel ignited. "That's saying a lot, actually. I would totally choose you over Angelina Jolie. . . And I think she's super-hot. . . Jennifer Aniston too, and probably Jessica Alba-"

"Troy. . ." I put my finger to his lips.

He shifts uncomfortably and then closes his eyes, "Goodnight Gabriella."

* * *

END OF CHAPTER


	24. Chapter Twenty Four: Its Yours

Author's Note: While updating/revising the chapters I accidentally deleted this chapter. I am so sorry to those of you who wanted to re-read… or just started reading. It's not missing much and you will not be confused at all next chapter. Sorry about the inconvenience!

Happy reading :)


	25. Chapter Twenty Five: Something's Wrong

Monday mornings used to be so humdrum, so colorless. And now I feel as if they are something to look forward to. I strongly anticipate seeing Troy again - to feel his addictive lips on my own again, to inhale his scent. My gosh. I'm in _love._

Together. Involved. Going Steady. Boyfriend and girlfriend.

They all sum up the relationship between him and I. And the idea is so overwhelming I can barely contain my delight. I am practically desperate to see him again. The loss of control is only routine. I'm getting used to his presence, to him. I don't believe I could ever lose him. And I hope fate never offers such a downfall to my life.

This is my life story - horrifying, and complicated. But at least there's some parts that comprise romance and love. I never thought I'd be the one to tell love stories. And yet, here I am, reciting every little thing that Troy Bolton does that makes me crazy. Every little thing? Well, to make it simple - _everything_ he does makes me crazy. Then again, you probably already guessed that, haven't you?

The morning's been boring. I'm rather impatient to feel his arms link around me again. It is passing period before first hour. Usually he is waiting for my arrival. Today, however, my locker is rather lonely. I feel an unfamiliar emptiness as I begin to load my books into my locker. Where is he?

He never shows.

I feel a churning in the pit of my stomach for my first hour and I can't seem to concentrate on anything but Troy. I mean, school comes to me naturally, but the concept of him not showing up is strange. Did something go wrong? Is he sick? Does he not like me anymore? I'm rather confused and I can't seem to fight the unnerving nausea that has come over me. Like I've mentioned before, I cannot lose him. Never.

I realize I'm just being a worrywart as I approach my locker after first hour. He's waiting with his back against the locker, his arms folded, his eyes to the ground. He seems to be contemplating something when he notices me. He's looking good as always - a white v-neck t-shirt and a pair of straight legged jeans. A smile appears across his lips as he gives me a peck on the lips, "Morning, El."

"Where've you been?" I ask while fidgeting with my locker.

"Sorry, Chad and the guys wanted to talk to me," He slips his hands around my stomach affectionately, then plants a kiss on the top of my head, "how is my favorite girl doing today?"

I sigh, "Better now that you're here." I can't help but appreciate the moment.

It then occurs to me, "Where is my present you promised me?"

I can see his devilishly handsome grin from above me as he looks rather proud for a second. "Close your eyes." He whispers in my ear, bringing chills down my back. I do as he says and I feel him move my hair. He touches my neck, gently, and the chills seem to become stronger, along with the churning of my stomach.

"What are you doing?"

He says nothing in response but I feel something chain around my neck. I feel a bit baffled by this and open my eyes. I look down and find a necklace placed around my neck. The letter _T_ is prominent. I feel my heart skip a beat. "T for Troy?"

He looks a bit embarrassed as I turn around and face him. He shifts his position and rubs his neck almost uneasily. "Well. . . yeah. . ." He bites his bottom lip, as if hoping for a good response.

Without any hesitation, I throw my arms around his neck and beam at him, "You are amazing Troy. . . I absolutely love it!"

"Really?" He seems pleased.

"Really." We linger here for a second - captured by the moment completely. I can't resist the idea of connecting lips so I do, again, amazed by how enticing they are. "Thank you." I add after I depart from his lips.

* * *

Troy seems to absence himself from me after he gives me the necklace. I'm not sure if it's cold feet because of the intimacy in our relationship or what, but I feel a bit worried about him. He doesn't wait up for me after my next few hours. Usually he walks me to class.

However, he's nowhere to be found.

I try to not be concerned as I head into the lunchroom. Maybe there's a good explanation for his sudden truancy. I'm not sure. But I can still sense something is wrong. My gut seems to be shouting out for some sort of answer. I have none. I clench my stomach, hoping it will stop freaking out over nothing.

Troy sits at our usual table, texting someone with his cell phone. Its extremely normal for students to be texting but to be completely frank, I have never seen Troy use a cell phone in my lifetime. This act seems bizarre enough. I stroll up to the table casually and allow myself to sit down next to him. He doesn't notice my entrance.

"Troy?" He almost drops his phone when he hears my voice - as if shocked, maybe even guilty by my sudden presence.

"El," He chuckles as his baby blue eyes lift up to find me, "you almost gave me a heart attack there."

"Is something the matter?" I inquire, raising an eyebrow.

He looks at me erratically, ". . . Why would you think that?"

"You didn't wait up for me like you usually do, you didn't this morning either."

"Gabriella, nothing's the matter, alright? I was talking to some of the guys. No big deal." Of _course_ it was secretly a big deal. There's tension when he says this - some sort of edge, as if he's aggravated by me wondering what is going on. Is it really that crazy for me to wonder why my new boyfriend decided he is going to pay attention to people he never pays attention to? Not really. . .

"I just get the feeling something strange is going on. . ." I murmur so he can barely hear me. I can tell he does though - he looks up from the text message he's reading and frowns.

"How's your mom doing?" He changes the subject.

"Fine, she's coming home today." I answer, nonchalantly.

"That's good. . ." He awkwardly looks back down to his cell phone and furiously types more.

"I have never in my life seen you text before, this is _very_ odd." I joke, nodding to his cell phone.

He doesn't laugh, "I have practice tonight. If you want, I can give you a ride home?" he doesn't look up from the screen.

"That'd be wonderful," I respond honestly. He may not be acting completely himself but at least he stills wants to be with me, "I should just watch you guys again? Maybe Taylor will be there. . ."

Something rings on his phone - as if he is receiving a text message. I watch him as he smiles to himself. And I wonder who he's texting. I don't feel so confident about this one.

"Troy?"

His eyes snap back up to me, "Oh. . . yeah, probably."

"Look, did I say something today, or did something happen yesterday? You seem. . . different." I note, unsure of what his problem is.

He furrows his eyebrows at me, "Gabriella, why do you keep assuming I have a problem? Am I not allowed to talk to other people or something?" I'm taken back by his hostility.

"I wasn't saying that," I can't help but become a bit irritated by his sudden snippiness, "you're just completely ignoring me!"

He seems to roll his eyes as he shuts his cell phone, "Everybody's mad at me. Because I'm going out with you, I guess." The look on his face. . . I can't decode it, the emotion. It's something between annoyance and disappointment.

"Of course. . ." I whisper, feeling a lump in my throat. I can tell my voice is beginning to shake.

"El, please, don't," He says, as if he knows what I'm about to say or do. He grabs my hands from across the table, "I talked to them and explained how I felt, and they. . . aren't mad at me anymore. . . they just don't understand and I want them to."

"They never will!" I tell him, "They refuse to give me a chance, _ever_." I huff.

"They will," He assures me, coolly, "please calm down, El. . ."

"Well, you're acting all distant, like you're kind of wondering what you see in me yourself!"

"I just. . . I kind of said some things to them that I didn't mean, El," He bites down on his lip, a look of shame appearing across his face, "I really care about you - you mean the world to me and I'd never want to lose you, you know that."

I look into his ocean-blue eyes and I can't help but be a bit confused. "What did you say to them?" I feel discomfort from the thought of him saying bad things about me.

"Just promise me you won't let go, Gabriella." The look on his face is a bit painful, "No matter what happens."

"How can I promise something when I don't know what you said to them, Troy?" I can't ignore that lump in my throat as I try to keep my sanity.

"It doesn't matter," He mumbles frowning, "just don't let go." He plants a kiss on the side of my cheek which causes it to burn.

I realize that the bell is ringing and every one else is getting up and heading to their classes. I get up from my seat, grabbing my bag. Troy gives me a skeptical expression before taking one of my hands. He glides my hand up to his heart before we depart. "Yours."

As I blink, he's walking away. I can't understand why he's acting so funny, what happened in the matter of a day. He usually at least gives me a kiss before he leaves. This time he just walked away.

Something inside of me believes that something is very wrong and I feel my chest becoming hollow at the very thought.

* * *

The day went by rather quickly but I couldn't seem to fight thoughts of Troy. I have no idea what is the matter with him - why he is acting the way he is. I don't really understand. He's never been distant before, nor has he ever spoken badly about me. Did he say something rude to them about me? Did he lie to them?

I'm on my way outside to watch them practice when I hear voices from behind me. I notice there's no one else in the building really - it's cleared out nicely today.

I turn around gradually and am facing Sharpay, Miley, and Lauren.

"There you are. We've been looking all over for you," The demonic smirk on Miley's face haunts my dreams, "haven't we?"

Sharpay gives her a look that shows she wanted to be the first one to say anything. But she ignores the thought and advances closer towards me. I clutch onto the wall with my bag, unsure what they want. "Gabby?"

"What do you want?" I spat, trying to keep my guard up as much as I can.

Lauren laughs obnoxiously, "She thinks we want something. . ."

"Gabby. . . we don't want anything. Well, I mean, you _do_ have a super-hot boyfriend, but its not like he actually likes you, so. . ." The words seem to swim in my mind as Sharpay says them. Again, I don't understand.

"He does. I understand if you're jealous, but please, he's obviously not very interested in you, Sharpay. . ." I find myself saying, though I kind of want to take it back. I do not like the looks that she is giving me.

"That's what _you_ think. He always flirts with me. Like today, he asked for my number so he could text me." The concept seems believable but I don't _want_ to believe it. Troy wouldn't be that conniving would he? He wasn't like that. But he was texting someone today at lunch.

"We're just trying to help you if anything - I don't think you deserve to be used _again_," Lauren tries to sound as innocent as possible, "but it's evident to all of us that he's using you. I mean, we have proof that he is."

"I don't have time for this. . ." I back into the rough wall behind me and it hurts me. I really don't believe them.

"He was talking to us during passing period today. Zeke and Jason were bugging him about why he was going out with you and he said a few things you should be aware of. And he told us some things, like how you claim that Earl's such a bad guy. So we told him about what happened with Eric. . ." Miley's smirk is getting larger.

I clench my stomach as it does a complete flip-flop.

No.

I had this plan that I was going to tell Troy myself about Eric. I just have not gotten the chance to. Now he probably is angry with me for keeping it from him. And probably questioning the reality of it too. He wouldn't think like that though, would he? I mean, me, a murderer, a villain? I don't believe I come across as that type of girl.

"I got everything he said on my phone. I recorded," Lauren has this presumptuous grin on her face that makes my knees wobble. She is grabbing for her cell phone which is in her purse. I personally have had enough of this torture - if Troy did say something, I do not want to see it. Obviously he isn't who I thought he was.

Again, I feel pieces of me cracking at the thought.

"Trust me, he doesn't _belong_ with you." Sharpay's constant reminders are thrusting even more knives into my heart.

"Fine," I muster out, trying to keep myself steady, "show me the video." I don't want to. No, I definitely not want to. Troy must be just like Eric, just like every other person. Just using me. I am of no importance to him. That shouldn't surprise me.

The video is all static - you can barely make out the picture, but you can definitely spot out which one is Troy, which one is Zeke, and which one is Jason. Sharpay, Miley, and Lauren are heard giggling throughout the entire thing. Its obvious they are happy about this.

"Why are you with her, dude?" Zeke's expression shows concern - as if I'm dangerous, some kind of sin that Troy shouldn't dare to mess with.

"Zeke. . ." Troy is running his hands through his hair. "I've told you - she means something to me. You guys are _way_ too mean to her. . ." He seems extremely bothered by his friends not supporting the situation.

"Is it sympathy?" Jason inquires from next to Zeke. "Because she's not that hot. I mean, she's kind of average and ordinary. . . nothing out of the box. There are so many hot chicks you could tap at this school and you pick her. . ."

"Hey," Troy looks defensive, "Gabriella is _hot_, in her own way. . ."

In my own way? I wish I could understand that better.

"What, did she give it to you or something? You been foolin' around with her?" Zeke now looks extremely intrigued, and his eyes seem to be lighting up.

Jason grins, "Yeah, is she secretly like this complete sex mistress?" He elbows Troy.

I feel outraged by these little comments. They seem immature, and it's none of their business what goes on between Troy and I. But I'm slightly shocked when I see Troy turn around with a rather sadistic smile on his face. I can tell he doesn't mean to look wicked in any way, he's just messing around like a guy would. But I still feel heat flash to my face at the thought of him discussing my latest 'straddling' episodes.

"Maybe that's what it is," Troy shrugs slyly, and my heart shakes at the same time, "you know, beyond the girl she is, there's a very sexy woman. . ."

"Oh, Bolton's getting some!" Jason high-fives Troy who just has this disgusting grin on his face that makes me want to slap him.

"So, she's like a fox? Secretly? Is she good?" Zeke asks, eagerly.

Gross. . . pigs. If he even _acts_ like we. . .

"You don't even know, man," Troy positions himself to start walking to class with the two. I can hear Sharpay and Miley whispering from the phone's camera, things about how I'm "such a slut", and everything else.

The video ends.

"So, you had sex with him, just so he'd like you?" Sharpay is raising an eyebrow, incredulously.

I feel all the anger inside of me burning like a flame, "You have got to be kidding me. Do I come off as someone who would give up my all just for some dumb boy who can't keep his member in his pants?" I can't take it anymore, with them on my heels, I'm walking away.

How many times will I have to get hurt to learn that boys are self-centered?

"It's Troy, why wouldn't you?" Miley snorts.

"Was he good? Do you feel like you're one of us now just because you're giving it up to Troy? Because you're not, and you never will be, not after what you did to Eric." Sharpay informs me.

I feel a rush of hot tears falling down my face as I run straight to the other side of the school, meeting nothing but the wall. They have me countered and I am helpless.

I am not unsure of what happens next. I feel something powerful hit me in the head and everything else seems to black out. I'm not sure if someone hit me or anything. My vision is blurred when I open my eyes again. I suddenly feel a wave of coldness - and I feel a breeze as I try to recall where I'm at and what just happened.

They're still laughing, but the laughing is fading, so it seems as if they are walking away from me, finally leaving me alone.

It takes me a second to realize I'm in the girls' locker room. I'm in a corner, my small, petite body in the very corner. The floor is aloof and gives me shivers. For some unknown reason, I feel like something is missing but I'm not sure. Besides the brokenness I'm feeling, something else is a bit out of place. And then I glance down.

I'm unclothed. . . _completely_. And my clothes are nowhere to be found. The giggles are becoming more obscured as everything seems to hit me at once. Some cruel prank, that's all. But nothing stops me from crying. Nothing. And the tears are endless - like constant pools of emotion pouring from my eyes. The pain is unbearable. And I can't bare to face the facts - Troy really does care what people think, he's really ashamed of me. And he probably thinks I'm some sort of criminal now. I wish I could find something else to feel depressed about. He's the only thing that really matters to me though.

What's real in this world? It feels as if everyone is playing a joke on me, as if I'm just oblivious to it. And my sobs are becoming louder - echoing across the walls. I keep trembling from the coldness of my nudity. I cradle my legs with my hands and close my eyes. One day, I will be free of this pain - one day I will leave the world and never have to deal with these types of people.

You give someone a glimpse of who you truly are and they just turn around and stab you in the back. They turn around and drop you, even after they promise to catch you no matter what. I can still hear his words. "Don't let go."

What's easier - holding on and suffering more and letting go and letting everyone else win?

If everyone wins, at least then they don't have to deal with my burdens. I am the only one who has to deal with them.

But love is something you can't just throw away. Then again, if the other doesn't feel the same way, what's the point? Like Coldplay says, 'When you love someone but it goes to waste, could it be worse?'

_No. It's the worst._

* * *

END OF CHAPTER.


	26. Chapter Twenty Six: Never Forget

The locker room is quiet. I am leaning against the wall, my legs cradled in my chest. To any person I may appear as a bit helpless. I know no one will save me from this bitter loneliness. The boy who I thought truly cared about me did not care about me. To him, I was no more than a trivial little girl. The disappointment is endless and I suddenly understand what its like to love someone who may never love you back.

This thought makes me feel even more alone. My bare back is freezing against the wall. Again, I experience the alienation. I have no purpose once again. Nothing matters. I should be almost immune to this emptiness. I should be used to feeling dead inside. Like a broken record. I once played music, now I will never play again.

I shiver, my nakedness making it all too much harder.

Tears will not come down any more. Everything is numb but the drilling in my heart. Maybe this is why they constantly say that heartbreak is the worst feeling in the world. The sad part is that it is much worse than I expected. Suddenly death seems less petrifying. That final thought leaves me a bit worried about my sanity.

"Gabriella?" A voice calls out my name, desperate for a response.

I am just too far gone to grasp the person's voice.

Everything is rather heedless as I find myself dying from realization of what I never had. (I apologize for sounding so dramatic. I am just rather sick of this kind of thing.)

There is pounding on the locker room doors.

I find my voice as I let out a small sob. Whoever the person is seems to react accordingly – they walk in, in spite of anyone's reaction (well, more so my reaction.).

I never look up, afraid it may be more tormenters, or maybe _the_ tormenter, himself.

I keep bleeding the love inside of my heart, in defiance of whoever has entered the locker room.

"Gabriella," He huffs again. It has to be a song; his voice is far too beautiful to be real.

Troy Bolton – it must be him, easily.

I cover my vulnerable body instantly.

"Go away," I whisper, my mouth becoming dry. I still do not look up.

I can tell he is standing in front of me, "Gabriella, listen to me," He is begging.

"I know, I know everything – just leave me alone," I cry, bitterly. I can feel myself caving at just the desperation in his voice. I cannot fold anymore.

"They're trying to make me look bad, they're _trying_ to turn you against me," He jumbles the words together quickly, "look at me, El, please look at me." The emotion in his voice is unmistakable.

"No, I can't, Troy. To you, I am just a joke anyways. Moreover, how many times have we supposedly _slept together_? I'm such a slut, remember?" The aloofness of the room becomes more prominent.

"Gabriella, I just wanted them to like you," He pleas like a child who does not get what they want; "I wanted them to accept you so bad. They just didn't get it…"

"Why does it matter anymore? You would lie to make yourself look good, and make me look bad?" I demand, shaking my head with fury.

He ignores this and I feel him wrapping something around me, "I'll tell them everything was a lie, Gabriella. If you want me to, I'll go tell Sharpay right now,"

"You've already done the damage," I mumble, stubbornly.

He cups my chin in his hand, raising my chin up to his own level. I blink my eyes open in response, meeting with nothing but blue oceans glancing back at me. For some odd reason, I notice the truth in his eyes and the unbearable guilt dancing in them. "You mean the world to me, El. I never meant to hurt you."

"You made me look like a whore,"

"I wanted them to accept you. I want you to be happy," His voice is soft, velvet like always. "I can't be happy if you're not happy," As an afterthought, he looks away, "I don't shine if you don't shine."

"T-Troy…" I begin, unsure of the right words to say.

"Shh," He puts his fingers to my lips, "let's get your clothes back."

I blush, looking down to my body. I realize Troy had covered me with his navy-blue zip-up hoodie. It reeks of his smell, and I can tell I am giving in.

* * *

Troy drags me towards the gymnasium. We stand outside it for a second as he peeks through the doors. I can tell by the voices that it is Sharpay, Miley, and Lauren.

"By the time the boys have their next game, we're going to be great," Sharpay says to her cronies, triumphantly.

Troy does not think twice – he storms into the gym, ignoring my hands, which attempt to yank him back.

I watch quietly from the doors.

The girls seem anything but surprised to see Troy, whose expression never changes – the grimace is everything but friendly.

"Troy! What's up?" Sharpay seems actually _delighted_ to see Troy.

"Sharpay, what did you do with Gabriella's clothes?" Troy's fists curling into balls, his question is more of a demand.

"Huh?" Miley asks, absentmindedly from the side of Sharpay.

"Troy, don't tell me you're still wasting breath on that girl," Lauren mumbles.

"Give me her clothes, _now_." Troy moves closer to them, almost threateningly.

The girls seem a taken back by his hostility.

"Uh, excuse me?" Sharpay lifts a perfectly tweezed eyebrow. "I thought she was a good-for-nothing slut, from what you've mentioned…"

"I lied. I wanted you people to like her. Obviously, that is never going to happen, so I am giving up with you. Moreover, I want her clothes back, _now_."

"You can't hit us! We're girls!" Miley shrieks, sounding more afraid than I have ever heard her.

"I'm really sick of you guys treating her like she's nothing. She is a hell lot better than you girls are. She actually has a heart." Troy grumbles, his fists still in a ball. "Now give me her clothes."

"T-they're over there, on the bleachers," Sharpay's usual dark eyes look a bit blank. As Troy walks towards the bleachers, she looks almost … apologetic.

"You're _welcome_," Lauren says snottily.

Troy whips around, angrily, "Leave her the hell alone. Seriously, do not talk to her; do not even _look_ at her. I don't care if you guys are girls, I'll do something, and you'll regret it."

My eyes widen at his sudden violent attitude towards them. They also seem shocked.

"Y-you can't hurt us!" Miley shrieks back at him as he walks back to the doors, handing me my clothes.

"Yeah, you haven't seen the end of us! You can tell that freak that too," Lauren adds.

I bite my bottom lip so hard I believe it may bleed.

"Ignore them," Troy advises me, his breath warm against my ear.

* * *

"I don't know what to say," I mumble, while looking down.

"You don't have to say anything," Troy promises me, his hands placed on his steering wheel, "just realize that I'm serious when I say I never want to lose you."

"I cannot live without you," I squeak in a fragile voice.

Troy's fingers intertwine with my own, "Likewise."

"I feel so weak – so brittle," I mutter, "I have no control. Do you see the effect you have on me? And yet you hurt me so much… my feelings still remain the same."

Silence echoes in Troy's Audi, something I do not encounter often. Neither of us can think of the right words to say.

"Can you learn to forgive me for being a complete idiot?" He asks, after a few minutes. His thumb traces circles around my pointer finger.

I hesitate to this question.

"El," His blue eyes are on me as we approach a red light. Then he puts my hand on his unsteady heart, "Yours?"

The heartbeats make me weak at the knees, "I can," I force the words out but they sound so broken, "but Troy… can you learn to…" I fight the words out from my troubled heart. "Can you learn to love me the way that I love you?"

Troy's eyes never leave mine in spite of the green light flashing in front of us. Shakily, I nod towards the road and he jerks his attention back to the road.

For the rest of the ride, the silence is impossible. So badly, I want to take back my own words. I obviously spoke too quickly. He did not love me. He did not feel it in his soul, as I do.

We come to a complete stop at my father's house.

Troy gets the door for me, allowing me to get out.

"Troy… I'm sorry," I whisper shakily, feeling the tears forming in my eyes.

He inhales sharply, swallowing. The look in his eyes will forever haunt me. Something is different about the way he is looking at me. It is something beautiful. It is something unreal. I feel myself trembling just because of my ridiculous nerves.

"Troy… please, I didn't mean to jump ahead twenty pages," I cry out desperately, as he remains silent, the silence continuing to break my heart.

"El," He moves his hand against my pink cheeks, and my breath becomes caught in my throat, "please don't cry."

I am on the verge of the tears, but I hold them back, just for his sake. "Tell me you don't love me."

"Gabriella," he begins the tenderness in his eyes again, "… I've loved you since the day I've laid my eyes on you," His lips are against mine as I feel the tears release from my eyes, "I could never not love you."

He _loves_ me.

I break the kiss quickly, "You love me?"

The magic in his eyes never leave, "Gabriella, of course I love you. I have already learned to love you. In spite of everything, I want you forever. And I know this is just a high school relationship, but I think it's real."

"You're…" I whisper, breathlessly. "You're serious?" I feel like I am hyperventilating.

"More than I've ever been," He says in his perfect voice as he plants a kiss against my forehead, "I'll take you and whatever problems lead ahead – I'm here,"

I love him. I love him more than anything in my life, I quickly realize. I sincerely know that in my soul we are meant to be in some way. Even if this does not last for a long time, I will never regret being apart of Troy Bolton's life. This is the greatest gift of all. It is what makes life worthwhile.

I know that I will never forget the way he looked at me when he told me he loved me.

Never, ever, ever forget.

* * *

END OF CHAPTER


	27. Chapter Twenty Seven: Here For You

Once in awhile life will surprise you.

Life has definitely surprised me.

One day, I'm sitting in a cafeteria all by myself, wishing I had friends and admiring the most beautiful boy in school.

Months later, I have a group of friends and I'm going steady with the most beautiful boy in school.

Nevertheless, I still have more problems than the average teenager does.

For one, Earl is out to get every person that I care about. For two, the evil girls at my school are determined to tear Troy and me apart.

Things are never perfect.

Yet, this moment is.

The night is quiet. There is no sound at all. There's no cars, no crickets, not a thing. It's almost bloodcurdling. It's rarely this quiet.

The sky is a perfect dark blue, clear of stars. All that's left is the moon that glows in the darkness.

Then there's Troy Bolton and I, lost in each other's kiss as usual. Thoughts are lost, as is the world around us.

The passion is infinite, as if we will never get enough of each other. I cannot break away for even a second. There's some sort of necessity that keeps bringing us back together. In all honesty, I feel we cannot live without one another.

I'm still going back to the moment where he told me he loved me. I'm replaying it repeatedly in my head. My want for him never stops growing. Because I love him too. I believe I love him more than he could ever love me.

Sometimes the look in his eyes makes me think twice.

The kiss is broken as Troy moves away finally. The warmth I once felt has vanished. I feel a wave of disappointment come over me but I try to ignore it.

His eyes sparkle in the night.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow?" Although he is smiling, I notice the pessimism in his voice.

"Yeah…"

"I know this sucks." He chuckles. "I'll miss you."

"You don't even know how much I'm going to miss you." I tell him, rolling my eyes.

He doesn't even understand…

"Oh, I think I know," He grabs one of my hands and kisses it affectionately.

My heart beats irregularly.

"I love you, Gabriella."

The emotion in his eyes leaves me lost at words. I'm not sure what to say, I'm too obsessed with this moment.

"I love you too." His eyes light up when I say this back to him.

I notice the look of satisfaction spreading across his face as he presses his lips against my own one last time. "Goodnight, El."

* * *

The sun wakes me up early in the morning.

I realize that I have to go to school and that I'm going to be late.

I quickly jump out of bed and hop into the shower.

I then throw on a pair of casual jeans and a t-shirt. My hair is a mess. I just let it do what it pleases. I then try and curl it as much as humanly possible. In the end, I look just like I did the first day Troy met me: extremely boring and predictable.

Groaning, I head downstairs for breakfast. The smell of French toast has already made my stomach growl.

Of course, Brooklyn is sitting at the table, eating some French toast, looking as divine as ever.

Ignoring the pangs of jealousy that I feel at the sight of her, I plop down at the table.

"Good morning, Gabriella!" She's very cheerful, as usual, as she gives me a dazzling smile.

"Morning." I'm not as keen this morning.

"How did you sleep?"

"Alright…"

"Just alright? Huh. I noticed Troy's car was here late last night. Did you guys have fun?"

She has no idea what kind of _fun_ I had to deal with last night.

"Yeah, all sorts." Hopefully she doesn't notice my sarcasm.

"Good. He seems like a sweet guy, you know. He's a real cutie. Most of the boys I picked up at your age had braces and really bad acne." She jokes.

Yeah, like I actually believe that.

"Sorry, I can tell you're not much of a morning person. I made some French toast though if you're interested. Your dad always says that I make the best." She gives me a wink before nodding towards the plate of French toast by the sink.

Immediately, I think about how Troy said she was "probably not that bad after all".

I shortly am amused.

Wordlessly, I get up and put some of that delicious-looking French toast on a plate and then plop back down, across from Brooklyn.

She's wearing a pair of skinny jeans and an oversized shirt that looks like it may have cost a bit more than fifty dollars. Her hair is so straight and shiny. I wonder what kind of product she puts in it…

She looks like a goddess, as usual. She's beautiful.

I take a bite. Yes, the French toast is scrumptious, as predicted.

"If you want, I can give you a ride to school. Your dad said you don't have a car yet. I told him we should save up and buy you one."

I look up to her with a full mouth, unsure of how to respond. I know she's trying to make a good impression but buying me a car? That seems a bit dramatic.

I begin to dread the car ride.

However, in the same moment, a car honks loudly from outside of the house. Both of us look out the window to note an exemplary Audi R8 just waiting in the driveway. I have to stop myself from drooling.

Brooklyn seems just as surprised as I do.

I blink then realize what is happening. I rush to get my bag and bid Brooklyn goodbye before slamming the front door and racing to the glorious Audi.

"You saved me." I tell him as I throw my bag to the backseat.

He looks perfect as ever, his hair in place. He wears a long-sleeved light blue v-neck that embraces his muscles, along with a pair of denim jeans.

He gives me his faultless smile after quickly kissing me on the cheek. "Saved you?"

"She was about to drive me to school. That conversation would have been painful. Troy, she is trying excessively hard. I know she wants to make an impression on me and everything but…"

"Aw, come on, El. Leave her alone. Obviously she really likes your dad; otherwise she wouldn't care so much what you think." Troy tells me.

"I know. It's disgusting how much she likes him. He's too old for her. He has to be. She's just so… perfect. It's… disgusting."

"Well, you're perfect too, but you don't see me complaining." He jokes, giving me one of his winks.

My heart dithers as I sarcastically roll my eyes, "Oh, _I'm _perfect? She's like a freakin' supermodel."

"She's alright. I give props to your dad."

"You would."

"So did you watch the Lakers lose to the Mavericks again?" Troy, coincidentally, changes the subject.

"Have I ever watched the Lakers?"

"Real question: have you ever really _lived_? You cannot be my girlfriend unless you have watched them. Therefore, we're going to watch a game at my house after school."

"Because the Lakers are the most important thing right now. There's not some creep stalking me, my mom's not in grave danger and Sharpay's group isn't desperately trying to break us up."

"Lakers are always number one. That other stuff can come later." Troy jokes.

I realize we have now arrived to East High.

I groan.

Troy grabs my hand and squeezes it encouragingly. "Don't worry nothing will happen today."

"I hope not."

As I'm about to get out of the car, Troy hops out and gets the door for me, politely.

I give him my best smile although I know it doesn't even compare to his own.

He returns the smile. His lips find my own within seconds.

It doesn't take long for me to become completely absorbed in Troy Bolton's kiss. It does happen often, after all.

Students pass us, ogling us, making disgusted faces. We just ignore them and continue.

I feel some sort of completion.

However, when the kiss ends, so does my comfort.

He gives me a final look of affection before we head towards the prison.

He takes my hand, trying to solace me.

"You know, this is kind of odd. You aren't eating breakfast today." I joke, elbowing him in the ribs.

He just grins. "Yeah, sorry about that. I know how much you look forward to it."

"I do. I absolutely love the way you look when you're shoving food down your throat and there's pieces of food flying everywhere."

"It's attractive, right?"

I laugh as he turns to face me.

"Do you know how much I love you?" He asks, looking into my eyes.

I feel my cheeks redden as my heart skips a beat.

"Well, it's a lot." He reminds me, pushing a strand of dark hair away from my eyes.

"I love you too…" The words coming out of my mouth are foreign; they're very new to me.

I feel uncomfortable saying them. In my heart, I truly mean them. I still feel the insecurity though, as if he's about to tell me he doesn't love me back.

The look in his eyes makes me feel different, the look that always makes me believe him.

"I'll see you at lunch?"

"Lunch…" He whispers, giving me a kiss on the cheek before allowing our fingers to separate.

* * *

The day seems dull, colorless as usual. The only people that help me get through the day are Kelsi and Taylor who often strike up conversations with me and keep me laughing.

I'm anxious for the arrival of lunch. I'm frantic to see Troy again. This obsession building inside of me is driving me insane; it's something I want to destroy.

I find Troy sitting at our usual table, waiting for me.

He looks impeccable compared to the rest of the guys at school. I have such luck. I wonder when it's going to end.

"Hey," I greet him, taking the seat next to him.

I enjoy both sitting next to him and sitting across from him. Across from him, I can look into his eyes. Next to him, I just feel that relief from his presence. I cannot decide which one I extol the most…

"They're making smoothies today, the faculty. I guess it's a celebration because we've been winning so many basketball games. They're free." Troy informs me, nodding his head towards a table where people are lining up.

"Smoothies? Sounds good."

"_Really_ good. My old school used to do the same thing. When we'd win games, they'd give out free smoothies. Guess it's a trend."

"I'm guessing you're going to want some?" I ask, chuckling lightly.

"You know me too well." He gives me a light smile before getting up out of his seat, allowing me to follow behind him.

However, as we head towards the table and stand in line, I notice a shadow lurching from the hallway. Of course, I cannot decipher who the person is. I suddenly feel goose bumps appearing across my back and my arms. I find myself holding onto Troy's arm tighter than anticipated.

"Everything alright?" He asks, while we are muddled between several people.

I must look pale.

I continue to watch the shadow, confused on what is going on. Earl's face runs through my mind for a second but I decide to ignore my inner gut feeling.

"Yeah, everything's fine." I lie, biting on my bottom lip roughly. Nothing is fine. Everything is wrong. Or so it feels.

We finally get up to the line and we both select a cup, thanking the faculty. One of the older ladies seems infatuated with Troy as she raves on about his basketball skills and how he should be on a college team next year.

This goes on for awhile when finally we excuse ourselves, letting the next people get their smoothies.

"You always have your fans, don't you?" I chaff, laughing quietly.

"She was only complimenting me, El. No hard feelings." He shrugs, as if it was nothing.

"Complimenting? More like worshipping."

"That's just gross." He makes a face as we head back to our table. "Do you want some food?"

"Sure, what does Chef Bolton want today?"

He ponders for a second, stroking his chin.

I laugh at his childishness.

"I'm thinking… a Chicago dog. It's surprising that East High sells them. Most schools are too cheap. I gotta see if they're any good, you know?"

I'm not sure if the 'Chicago dog' sounds that great. I find myself cringing inwardly but decide to try it out for Troy's sake.

"Sounds good."

Troy doesn't notice my distaste and jumps up again, heading towards the lunch line.

As we're in line, I still feel a sick feeling in my stomach, as if I'm being watched. It's all too familiar. I swallow thickly as Troy snatches up our two Chicago styled dogs. I'll admit, they smell delicious, but I'm just not a big fan of onions.

By time we're back in our seats, the feeling is dismissed.

I watch Troy eat the hot dog, somewhat fascinated. He makes a mess, onions and everything else flying everywhere. When he realizes what he's doing, he grabs a handful of napkins from a holder nearby.

I have to stop myself from laughing at his dilemma.

I force the hot dog into my mouth also, attempting to savor its taste. It's rather spicy for my liking but I decide to put on a smile and act as if its heaven, as Troy often words food.

"Good, right?" His mouth is full.

"This is delicious, Troy."

I take a sip of my smoothie to cancel out the hot dog's taste and instantly feel nauseous. I can already feel the food cycling in my stomach and it hasn't even been digested yet. Something feels very wrong.

"El, are you OK? You look… sick." Even though he still has the dog in his mouth, he's looking at me rather concerned.

"I'm not feeling so hot." I admit taking another sip of the smoothie, hoping that will help.

For some reason, I feel even worse as I continue to take swigs of the smoothie. I feel lightheaded and sleepy, as if I may just pass out.

Troy's eyes are huge as he watches my struggle. Within a second, the hot dog is dropped from his hands and he's rushing me to the nurse's office.

When the nurse sees me, she seems very worried. Instantly, she's running to me, checking my pulse and my blood pressure. Everything seems normal in that department, though my heart isn't beating right and it's hard for me to breathe right.

"Are you prescribed to any medication at all?" She inquires.

The question is barely understandable as I try to act as sober as possible. I've never drank before in my life, but I imagine it's something like this. The sad part is I think this would be worst then being drunk.

"Never." I finally spill out, trying to regain my breath.

"She's having respiratory problems. She also looks nauseated. Do you have any diseases or health problems I should know about?"

"No…"

"Is she allergic to something?" Troy interrupts.

He's squeezing my hand to soothe me.

"We can take a test to find out, but she's not breaking out or swelling up anywhere."

I know I'm not allergic.

"C-Can you… give me a drug test?" I spit out.

The nurse looks stunned, as does Troy.

"A drug test? El, you don't take drugs!" Troy suddenly looks upset, as if I just dove into the deep end.

"Why would I give you a drug test?" The nurse is puzzled.

"I don't know… I feel… drunk. I don't feel sober. I think someone put something in that smoothie." I finally admit, Earl's face coming back to haunt me.

"Is there anyone in school that would do something like that?" The nurse asks.

"There's a guy who would," Troy suddenly says. I can see him cracking one of his knuckles from behind his back.

I can tell he's getting angry.

I give him a look that proves I just want him to not say anything. However, just looking at him is taking so much energy out of me.

The nurse seems lost at our comments but I notice she's grabbing for something in a drawer. Within seconds, she has a cup just waiting for me to urinate in.

I swallow thickly and turn to Troy who looks blank.

She leads me to the restroom. After doing what I needed to do, I look at my reflection in the mirror. Besides the numbness that has taken me over, my eyes are glazed, bloodshot.

I look deathly sick and the image itself makes me feel nauseated. I feel things rumbling around in my stomach and I have to pull myself back from heaving.

I try to fix my hair and attempt to look presentable. I hate to look so hideous around Troy. I understand he loves me no matter what, however, I'd prefer it would stay that way. I don't want to look like some ill monster to him.

I emerge from the bathroom handing the nurse my sample, ignoring the way that Troy looks at me. Of course, he looks concerned. His blue eyes make me nervous as I hear my stomach screaming out.

I'm realizing I may just die today.

I stagger towards a chair, practically tripping over my own feet. Troy almost reaches out and helps me.

The nurse is gone to check the results of the test.

"Gabriella?" Troy calls out my name from across the room, blue eyes dancing in question.

"I… don't feel normal, Troy." I answer, hoping I don't stutter at all.

A minute later, Troy is sitting right next to me, holding my hand as I close my eyes, not wanting to see blurriness anymore for it's giving me a migraine.

It's all too much. Everything comes back to me and I have to get up from the seat. I'm sweating and it's panicking me. All I can do is search for the nearest trash can and when I find it, I'm holding onto it for dear life, puking unattractively. Tears fall down my eyes in embarrassment and as I pull my face out from the can, I begin sobbing erratically.

Troy Bolton is there at my side, "El, don't cry, it's OK to be sick." He's pushing my hair out of my face, not even disgusted one bit.

I suddenly just wish he would leave; I don't want him to see me at this state.

"Troy… please just leave. This is so embarrassing."

"I'm not going anywhere," He tells me sternly, looking into my eyes, "I'm here for you, remember?"

"Yeah…" The tears continue to pour from my eyes, humiliation and discomfort taking me over.

The nurse finally comes back, completely confound.

"The um… drug test came back… positive." She doesn't meet our eyes while explaining. "I did a substance test to find out what it is and it's a narcotic, Oxycotton. Have you ever heard of it?"

Troy's eyes are back on me and I shrug. I'm not exactly a pharmacist. I know nothing about drugs. I've never taken a pill in my lifetime.

"Do you know anyone that does drugs, Gabriella?" The nurse questions, raising an eyebrow.

"No…"

"What does this mean? Some weirdo drugged her with Oxycotton? Why in the hell would someone do that?" Troy bursts out, practically yelling.

"Language, Mr. Bolton." The nurse lectures him. "And I'm not sure, actually. The dosage was super high, a scary high that could kill a person or at least make them go in shock. Gabriella's very sick right now because her body isn't used to such potency. They're normally used as prescription drugs to treat pain. However, they're often used for people's leisure, at least those who mess with drugs often."

"So, he was trying to kill her."

"I don't know the point in all of it, Mr. Bolton. Would you like to tell me whom you think did this? I could find out which students were involved with the faculty this afternoon."

"Yeah, that'd be helpful." Troy looks over to me, exasperated. "What can we do to help her sober faster?"

"It's all time. You can wait it out, or let her sleep. That might help. Since you two are such good students and I know you wouldn't be doing drugs, I'm going to write you two notes so you won't have to go back to class. Just promise me you will take Gabriella somewhere to rest so the drugs will wear off. I will call one of you concerning who helped the faculty. Then we can take it up to the principal."

"OK, thanks so much." Troy gets up from his chair, helping me up also. "I'll help her get better."

"She's very lucky to have you. I hope you feel better, Gabriella. We'll figure out who the culprit is, don't you worry."

I do not remember much after the trip to the nurse's office. I'm sure Troy drove me to his house. That's how I ended up in his bed.

* * *

His bed is so comfortable and warm; I'm asleep within a minute of him lying me down. I have no idea where he goes for he leaves me all by myself. He kisses me on the cheek and then vanishes.

I feel disgusted with my illness as I realize he actually left a trashcan below his bed. Great. Now to him I'm just a puking mess.

The drugs only wear off when I wake up, for my memory is clogged and I don't remember a thing that has happened. I remember the nurse's office and the trip to Troy's but the reason why I don't remember is beyond me.

I take an adventure to the living room where Troy is on the couch with his dad, watching the Dodgers. My feet piddling across the wooden floor is loud. They hear me and turn around.

"Well, hello Miss Gabriella. Nice to see you again." Mr. Bolton greets me, a grin on his face. "Troy told me you weren't feeling so well. Hope you're better."

He's always so friendly.

Troy gets up from the couch and approaches me; the same trepidation is in his eyes.

"Hey," He says, softly pushing me towards his room.

"I'm so sorry I don't remember anything, Troy…"

"Hey, it's alright," he tells me. "Someone drugged your smoothie at school, that's all."

As he reminds me, a memory of a shadow flashes back to me.

"It was Earl, Troy. I saw him when we were in the cafeteria. I wasn't sure at first but it had to be!"

"El, calm down. We don't know if it was him. It could have been Sharpay or someone. The nurse is going to call and let us know who was there, OK?"

The rate of my heart slows down for a second.

"Troy, I know it was Earl!" I exclaim, panicked. "I saw his shadow when we were getting smoothies."

"Gabriella that could have been anyone's shadow."

By now we are in his bedroom.

"It's something he would do, I know it." Anxiety has officially lavished me.

"I know it seems like it was him. We can't be too sure. We need to talk to someone though, Gabriella. We can't just go on… people are getting hurt. _You're _getting hurt." Troy emphasizes with distraught blue eyes.

I know he's right. We can't just keep acting as if everything's okay when it's obviously not. Earl's going to keep hurting people; he's going to keep bothering us. We need to find a way to stop him.

"What are we supposed to do?" I ask quietly.

"Maybe we should talk to my dad." Troy suggests, as if that would make everything better.

I nearly hyperventilate. "Your dad? Troy, you have to be kidding me! I'm not going to tell your dad. He'll think I'm some pathetic, rundown girl who can't fight her own battles. I don't want your dad to think any less of me…"

Troy grabs my shoulders, stopping me in my panic. "My dad likes you. He knows that I'm in love with you. Because of that, he's willing to do anything to help you out. He knows a lot of policemen… he was pretty popular in high school."

I roll my eyes. "Well, looks like you're following in his footsteps."

Troy ignores my snide comment. "He won't judge you. We won't tell him everything. Just the part about how this crazy guy is following you, hurting people you love."

"Not just hurt… _killed_." My stomach feels queasy at the word 'killed'.

"Let's just talk to him." Troy is persistent about this.

As he begins to leave the bedroom, I pull him back. "Troy, do you have any gum or an extra toothbrush I could use?" My voice shakes at the question.

I already feel insecure enough around him. I know that I probably smell like vomit and everything else. That's something I do not want to smell like. I don't want Troy to love me any less.

Troy just seems amused by this question. "Gabriella, you don't stink I promise."

"You're my boyfriend; you're going to say that." I groan.

He chuckles, his eyes twinkling in entertainment. "You're right, I'll just be honest, and you really stink, Gabriella. I really recommend you take a shower."

I frown. "That's so mean!"

"That's what you wanted to hear, right? Really, though. You do kind of stink."

"Troy Bolton! I've been with you after basketball practices where you were drenched in sweat and smelled like a dirty gym locker and here you are, criticizing me when it's not even my fault!" I'm completely insulted.

He just laughs, as if it's the funniest thing in the world. "Oh, El, stop wigging out. I know I stink sometimes. We all do. You can use my bathroom and freshen up if you really want. There's some mouthwash in there you can use." He winks at me. "Just meet me in the living room when you're done."

I sigh, dreadfully as I watch him walk away. I cannot help but review his backside. Is it even normal to be _that_ attractive? I seriously have to get over my Troy Bolton fantasies. I mean, he's my boyfriend. I should not be this obsessed…

I stroll into his bathroom and cannot help but giggle. Sure, it's all blue and has masculine colors but it's just so clean! I'm somewhat relieved it's clean but at the same time, it humors me. Most guys have hair in the sink, gross stuff in the toilet…

Troy's bathroom is perfectly clean.

Thank God!

I smile as I find the mouthwash by the sink. There are little Dixie cups hanging on the wall. Again, I find myself thoroughly entertained. Dixie cups are so adorable. I wash my mouth out for about five minutes before splashing some water on my face.

I look at my reflection in the mirror and am disgusted. My hair is all messed up, as if I've been sleeping for days. My eyes have shadows underneath them and they are all red. Makeup is practically running down my face. I fix this by dabbing some water around my eyes leaving me with the same old dull brown eyes. With a rubber band on my wrist, I throw my hair up in a messy pony tail.

In all honesty, I'm a mess.

I make my way out of the bathroom and towards the living room. Of course, Troy and his father are back watching the Dodgers game. Mr. Bolton looks rather tense as he watches his team strike out. I hear Troy mumble some sort of curse word underneath his breath.

Evidently, they like the Los Angeles teams.

I clear my throat, allowing Troy to turn around quickly. His dad is still engrossed in the game and doesn't notice.

Troy gives me a soft smile before grabbing the remote and turning down the volume.

"Dad, we need to talk."

The commercials come on almost coincidentally.

Mr. Bolton turns to face his son, and then notices me in the corner. "What's up?"

"We kind of have a problem…" Troy begins.

* * *

END OF CHAPTER


	28. Chapter Twenty Eight: More Interesting

There is a sort of ambience that comes about when a Bolton walks into the room. The moment I met Troy I felt this. It is rather soothing, a feeling of comfort. Maybe it runs in the family.

Jack Bolton has never made me uncomfortable. He was always a friendly, jaunty man, full of spirit and a kind heart.

However, right now, I could not feel more uptight.

Troy begins to unleash my story, my ever-so-famous nightmare. I watch Jack's face carefully, taking in every single furrow of his eyebrows and every wrinkle across his forehead.

He doesn't even try and hide his emotions. The disgust and concern are evident within his facial features.

I suddenly regret the idea of ever confronting him of all people.

"This is true, Gabriella?"

My face darkens. I'm humiliated. I disliked that Troy knew my secrets, now his father did too. I know what this means. Jack won't want his do-gooder son to be involved in such a tangled web. Troy deserves so much better.

"I told Troy he didn't need to get involved in all of this, Mr. Bolton."

I don't need to turn to notice the painful look Troy throws at me. He really knows how to make me feel bad, too.

Nevertheless, Jack isn't too worried about Troy's well-being right now.

"Have you talked to your parents about this?"

How typical. My parents. As in, my dysfunctional mother who is too broke to take care of her own self, and my gooey-eyed father who is so far up Brooklyn's butt he can barely process actual thoughts.

Sure, they know. There's not much they can do though.

"Yeah, of course. They just tell me to be careful."

"Dad, this guy is crazy. He'll appear out of nowhere, when we're least expecting it. It's not something that can be predicted. El's parents have done what they can." Troy steps in to defend my parents.

Troy is such a good person.

I watch him, now turning into putty. How in the world do I have him?

"Well, I have an idea. Have you ever considered getting better protection? Maybe a bodyguard? I know a few guys and…" Jack begins.

Troy stops him in midsentence, "Dad, I doubt Gabriella would be interested in someone following her around all the time."

He has a point there. I need privacy. Especially now that I have Troy…

My face reddens again. Yeah, privacy. Because kissing is so intimate.

"Gabriella?" Jack's eyes are on me, inquisitive.

"Um… well, I guess that would be a bit too much."

"Well, with your situation, there's not much to do. This guy has you cornered when you least expect it. You need a professional to overlook the situation. I've known a lot of people that had this same problem. Lots of guys I know have worked in the police department. They get this kind of stuff every day…"

Jack seems to be lost in his own thoughts. "I know this guy from college, had this kid who's been in the force since he was young. Best bodyguard you'd ever meet. He's also trained in self-defense, all the martial arts you could ever learn. Badass if I've ever seen one. Troy actually used to be buddies with him."

Troy raises an eyebrow, curiously.

"Troy, you remember Brandon? The kid used to come over all the time, you two would play video games together."

I try and hold back a chuckle but I just can't. Troy notices and gives me a look.

"… Yeah, I remember. Cool guy. He beat me every time." He scratches his head. "I wouldn't mind him helping Gabriella out."

I look at him and he refuses to look back. For some reason, I can tell he's not being totally honest. I know Troy well enough to know when he's unsure about something. To me it doesn't sound the least bit appealing either.

"Alrighty, well I'll give him a call – tell him we need some help." Jack responds.

He seems pleased with his solution and doesn't say another word. Instead, he busies himself with a sports illustrated magazine on the table, taking it back to the living room to finish his Dodgers game.

Troy lets out a large breath. His arms are folded.

I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his firm stomach, leaning my head into his back. All I want is for things to be normal again – for my problems to go away.

Almost as a reflex, he pulls me into him, giving me a kiss on the forehead. "Maybe this will work." He says, his voice low and quiet.

"Troy… I don't have the money to pay this guy. And are you sure? What about privacy? And what about us spending time together?" I'm shaky all of a sudden and he can tell that.

"Don't worry. These guys are professionals. My dad knows his stuff. And we'll take care of the money. Or maybe you can talk to your dad and Brooklyn about it if you feel really bad. But I don't want you to worry about it, please."

I nod as he gives me a forced smile. "Now, I gotta take you home. Your parents have been blowing up my house phone for the passed hour, wondering where you are and what happened. I tried to explain but they wanna hear it from you personally."

"As much as I'd love to kidnap you and hold you hostage…"

I giggle at his joke as he pokes at my ribs.

* * *

The ride back to Brooklyn's place is kind of silent. I want to break it but I have no words. All I can do is glance over at Troy's face, watching sun rays dance across it. He seems concentrated on the road but his hand is in mine. Even now, he's still beautiful to me. I don't think my feelings for him will ever change.

He's too perfect.

I daydream as the world passes by so quickly in Troy's Audi. Trees become blurry as does everything else. Albuquerque really is not so bad. It's kind of wonderful if you truly look around. I think about what it would be like if I didn't have these problems, if Earl never existed and I lived a normal life. What if Sharpay didn't despise me, if the people at school didn't think I was a freak?

Maybe then, things would be easy. Simple. But if I lived a platonic life, would Troy still be in it? Would I have ever met Troy? Is it the complexity that keeps us going? The danger that keeps the ride interesting?

The car comes to a halt in front of Brooklyn's house.

Troy opens the passenger's door for me, letting me out.

We walk to the door. I count the steps, wishing I could go back in time to the moment before so I could kiss him and be in his arms. I waste so much time. I need to not take these moments for granted.

"I'll see you tomorrow at school, alright?" There's hesitation in his voice.

There's a longing in his eyes that keeps me still.

"Troy?"

His eyes sparkle.

"I love you." Confidently. Assured. 100 percent. I do.

"I love you too, El." Something about the way he looks at me when he says this and the way his whole face brightens up… drives me crazy.

We kiss on the lips before he departs from me, leaving a bitter coldness that engulfs me. I watch him leave, admiring the way he walks, the way he unlocks his car, and the way he vanishes from my life again.

How someone can steal my heart so easily is beyond me.

Already, my heart hurts.

I unlock the front door and expect to be bombarded with questions immediately.

And I am.

"Gabriella! There you are." It's my dad. His arms are around me within seconds. "Are you OK, pumpkin? Tell me, do you feel alright?" He's feeling my head and rubbing my back like I'm a child who just had her candy bar taken away.

Maybe. If Troy's my candy bar…

"Papa, I'm fine…. I just didn't feel good at school. Troy and Mr. Bolton took care of me just fine, I promise." I don't feel like rehashing details and worrying him. Maybe later, when I'm less exhausted.

"Are you sure? You sure spend a lot of time at the Bolton's. I'd like to meet his dad sometime, y'know, make sure he's a good guy. How's his mom?"

This question catches me off-guard as I'm heading upstairs. Troy's mom.

Ignoring that sick feeling in my stomach, I respond, "Troy doesn't have a mom. She died a little while ago. It's just him and his dad."

My dad's attitude changes a bit. His brown eyes soften a little as I look back to him.

"Wow… that's gotta be rough. I feel for the kid. No wonder he clings to you a lot."

I roll my eyes. Troy, clinging to me? Good one, Dad.

"You look tired, Hun. Why don't you get some rest? I'll explain to Brooklyn that you weren't feeling good. She was really worried."

The idea of getting some sleep sounds so heavenly that my eyes begin to float at just the thought. I can feel myself beginning to fade away, slipping into some other world, a good world.

I shake my head and head up the stairs, letting my dad know I'm going to hit the sack.

I change into my pajamas and lay my sore body down. My cell phone begins to ring immediately.

"Hello?"

"Hi, is this Gabriella?"

I open my eyes back up, confused at who this is and how they got my number. A wave of fear goes through me and I feel my heart wavering my chest.

"…Hello?" The voice is a deep, unknown voice. I've never heard this voice before.

"This is Brandon Lambert. I just got a phone call from a Jack Bolton about how you were interested in my services?"

I nearly slap myself on the forehead. "Oh. Yeah! Sorry…"

"He said you'd be needing my assistance immediately. He explained the situation. I was wondering if we could meet up?"

I look over at my alarm clock. 8:00 pm. Ok, it really isn't that late. I just can barely keep my eyes open.

Earl's face came into my thoughts and I shudder.

"Well, my dad's leaving for work soon. And his girlfriend's out for the night."

"We could just meet at a diner or something if you'd feel more comfortable that way." He suggests.

There is no way this is going to be delightful any way we do this. The sooner I get this over with, the sooner he can help me take care of Earl.

"Do you know where the high school's at?"

"Yeah I do."

"If you turn right and then keep going straight you'll run into a doctors office. There is a road to the left of the doctors office, that's my road. The address is 1476."

I hold my breath, feeling this is very out of my element.

"K, sounds good. I'll be there in 10 mins."

The phone call ends, however I am still holding on. For dear life.

This is dangerous. What if it's Earl, playing a trick on me? What if this guy is just as creepy as Earl? I think of punching Troy's number in, begging for his help. I decide that's unethical. I need to be strong, take care of myself. I trust Jack Bolton, he knows the right people.

My instincts say this is a good thing, a good idea. Things will work out. Brandon will be of great assistance.

I tiptoe downstairs, noticing my dad has just left for work. Everything is so silent. Scary, even. Goosebumps appear across my bare arms as I take a seat in the living room, watching out the window for this Brandon person to pull in.

I'm sure he wants to talk about his salary. He wants a down payment. Maybe he wants to set some ground rules, like when he can protect me. I don't even know how this works really.

Cutting off my thoughts and my breath, I see an older Mercedes Benz park on the side of the road. Is every person around here rich?

I bite on my fingernails as he gets out of the car. And I am completely shocked.

Dark hair, dark eyes. Built chest, obviously. Strong cheekbones and what looks like a friendly face, nothing too outlandish. His arm muscles are large, something I kind of admire and take in gracefully. With a tight black t-shirt and a pair of fitting jeans, he's a very attractive young man. Young too, about my age.

Instantly, I jump up and start messing with my hair. I must look like some beastly person. I have not done a thing to my hair or my face since I got sick at school.

I open the door to welcome this new guest to my life.

"Hi. You're Gabriella?" He asks, taking a big stride towards me.

Now, we're face-to-face. And I can't breathe.

"Yeah. You're Brandon?" I expire.

"Mmhm. Nice to meet you. Didn't think I'd be protecting someone so beautiful."

And my life just got so much more interesting.

* * *

END OF CHAPTER


	29. Chapter Twenty Nine: New Confessions

Brandon seems harmless.

Curiosity sparkling in his eyes, he walks into my house. I don't even invite him in.

The way he looks around, like a child who just found the candy shop. Everything is new, an adventure.

His dark eyes scan the walls, photos of Brooklyn and her former life. Brandon, so influenced by them, like they are his own.

Maybe he has lived a sheltered life, in poverty perhaps. Maybe we are the same. I shake this thought off immediately; his car is ravishing. We're not the same. Not even close.

"Nice place," He raves, dark eyes dancing around the living-room.

He then makes himself at home, plopping down on the couch. Like he's been here before. Like we've known each other for ages.

I'm a little uncomfortable by his easygoingness. But at the same time, he reminds me of Troy in a way. And if he's anything like Troy, he's good news.

The lights are dimmed in the living-room. There's that small lamp in the corner, on the coffee-table. Barely, I can make out Brandon's black eyes in the dark. His eyes, so dark, but I don't find them intimidating.

"So…" He begins, throwing his feet up on the table in front of him. So laid-back.

"So, how does this work?" I cut to the chase.

I already took a seat in the living chair nearby him.

"It's easy, really. I'm going to give you the contract now…" He gets up from his spot, digging through his tight blue jeans.

I watch him through this process, admiring the way the jeans accentuate his figure. Troy _must _have the same pair. They look almost identical.

I realize instantly my stupidity and look away, blossoming at my dirty thoughts. I have a boyfriend, for goodness sakes! Just because he's not here at the moment… and just because Brandon is so dang attractive! Pull it together, Gabriella. You're not some pervert.

A part of me wonders if I'm lacking something. Something Troy isn't giving me. To him, I'm far too fragile for such activities…

Brandon hands me the contract, all crumpled up from his pockets. I get up, accepting the paper. Our hands touch briefly. His hand is scorching hot, like fire. But I feel warmth from it.

My face reddens. He isn't even as attractive as Troy.

I read the paper, taking in all the information. It just states basic facts. Brandon will be accompanying me daily. Being professional, privacy will try and be maintained. Everything sounds breezy, like I could maybe handle this. Then comes the hard part.

"Residency." I mutter. I didn't mean for Brandon to hear.

"I know what you're thinking and it's cool. Just talk to Troy and your parents, see what they think. It's just more convenient for me. And well… cheaper."

Then it dawns on me. "You need a down payment?"

I can see Brandon's expression fill with guilt. Momentarily, I'm confused.

"Uh… Jack already gave me the money. Thought you knew?"

Of course.

I avoid smacking myself in the forehead like a fool. Although Jack pretended he cared so much about my safety, I can tell this is all about Troy. He's eager to get me out of Troy's life. So he invites this new guy in who can take Troy's place, solving the mysteries, dealing with the drama. He didn't want Troy to get hurt. Not because of some meaningless girl.

I'm hurt for a second, and feel a tug on my heart. Jack is Troy's hero. I'm not blind towards that. Troy wouldn't have suggested going to Jack if he didn't believe in him. Jack's always been Troy's number one. They went through so much together. It's a bond no one could break. Not even a love like ours. I didn't _want _to break it, get in the way like I always do. Troy has already lost a majority of his friends and his reputation. What more can I take away from him?

"Gabriella?" My eyes blink up, Brandon's voice interrupting my thoughts. "You seem a little upset. Jack's a pretty cool guy."

"He wants to keep Troy safe." It's like I'm telling myself what I already know.

"He's worried about you…" Brandon clarifies, shaking his head as he sits back down on the couch. "You're important to Troy, I guess."

"You and Troy were friends once, right?" I remember Jack's comments, about how they were once friends, playing video games together.

Brandon nods. "For a long time. I was born in California."

"What brings you to Albuquerque?"

"This job, duh. Isn't that obvious?" Brandon grins. "Jack's paying me pretty fat. And I wouldn't dare pass up a job opportunity. I do work like this all over the States."

"You came all the way here… just for a job?" This seems to be hard for me to understand. Doesn't it cost a ton of money to move? Just for one case?

"I don't have a bunch of stuff. Just a suitcase. All I had to do was jump on a plane. Jack's money helps me with the hotel bill."

Oh. The hotel bill. So that is where he's residing?

I raise an eyebrow. "And it'd be more convenient if you lived… in my father's house?"

"Absolutely. But I get it, you know. I'm a stranger. That's why you should probably talk to him. I've read the e-mail Jack sent me. Over and over. I already know a lot about this Earl guy. Sounds like a few guys I've ran into…"

"How old are you?"

"I'll be turning nineteen next month." He answers, obediently. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen…" I answer, quietly. "How are you so young?"

"I'm just that good, I guess." He shrugs, nonchalantly. "Why are you so young?"

I ignore his banter. "I can't guarantee this is going to work. Staying in my father's house… it's not even his, really. It's his girlfriend's. And Troy… Troy might…"

"Troy was my best friend," Brandon cuts me off, "he knows me. I'm not some slime ball trying to take his girl. I'm here for professional reasons." He gets up from where he's sitting.

He approaches me, his dark eyes practically seeing into my soul. I shiver at the proximity between us. And then, he leans forward, our faces only inches away. My heart begins to race. What in the world is he doing? My mind is blank and I can't think up a response… I know I should move away, I should scream or do something erratic…

Finally, I let go of the air I'm holding in as he backs away, a small grin on his face. "You're a pretty girl. I can tell you're not used to guys hitting on you,"

"I'll probably tell you nice things. I'm that type of a guy. And I'll probably piss Troy off somehow. I like to tell girls what they should hear on a daily basis. You should hear that you're pretty. When I first seen you, I was kind of shocked you were with Troy. Not because he's a bad looking guy or because I think you two would look odd together…"

"He's just always liked the wrong girls. You actually seem like the right girl."

I blush into my lap, unable to find the right words to say back to him.

"For any guy. So, I hope Troy's not a jackass about it." Brandon finishes, sitting back in his seat, casually. Like he never said anything sentimental. Like he never flattered me.

"… Thanks." I say, meekly as I look everywhere but at him. "That's… really nice of you."

"Just stating facts, girl. You shouldn't worry about whether he's going to be okay with me staying in the same house as you. I'm here to protect you. He shouldn't feel threatened. He should trust you, you know?"

I've never looked at Troy as controlling. Maybe a little protective. I think back to when he met Eddie the first time. His stance was so… different. Like he was trying to cut the distance between Eddie and me. He didn't want us to even be able to look at each other. For some reason, that memory kind of bothers me from time to time. It may have been because he didn't understand our relationship, our kinship. Maybe now, he'd give him a handshake. A part of me wonders how he will react when I show him this contract. I'll have to say I got it through an e-mail. He'd never understand me sneaking out of my bed in the night to talk to Brandon. That's the crazy, insane side of me. The side of me that sometimes wishes to hang herself when things get tough. These thoughts I never want to reveal to Troy. He'd go running.

"I'm tired." I confess, my thoughts making me unstable.

Brandon looks all too serene where he's at and I hate to change that. It's getting late though. I can tell, mostly because of the ding of the clock from the kitchen. It's dinged a few times now.

"I bet." Brandon doesn't seem angry. He gets up from his seat and heads towards the door. "Look… just read over the contract, talk to Troy, talk to your dad and his girl. I'll be waiting to hear from you. Just… give me a call, or whatever."

I nod my head, following him to the door. I give him a polite smile. Though my smile is weak compared to the one he gives me in return.

I falter a little, like a young girl receiving her first crush. Nothing new. Maybe it's a matter of not being around good-looking guys much. Only Troy. And you'd think that'd be enough.

I watch him vanish into the darkness, getting into his exquisite car. I die in jealousy as he revs up his engine and flies down the street.

Evidently, I need to get a nice car.

My watch tells me it's passed midnight now. Troy must be sound asleep; I have no more texts from him.

The contract is still in my hand as I head up to my room. I place it on my desk and crawl into my warm bed, anxious to dive into a slumber.

However, as I turn off the lights, my mind begins to race. Dark, vicious thoughts encounter my mind. The world is evil now.

Neurotic, I look to the right of me, the window looking more terrifying than anything I've ever seen. All I can do is panic. What if he comes through the window? What if he breaks in?

Now I'm eyeing the closet, thinking he will pop out at me, like a child's worst nightmare. I ignore the tears that burn my eyes as I closed them tightly. No. I will not think these things.

I'm burying myself under the blankets, desperate to avoid this hell. Oh, how I wish I could be wrapped up in Troy Bolton's golden arms right now. I'm chilled to the bone and my heart is accelerating faster than the speed of light. The tears are never-ending. He's right beside me. I can feel him… I can sense him all over my body.

* * *

I wake up to the sound of my phone ringing. It's Troy's ringtone.

I don't bother looking at the time. I imagine its daylight.

"El? I'm outside your house. Are you coming?" Concern dripping from his voice.

My eyes blink open rapidly as I frantically check my alarm clock. 7:30! I merely cuss to myself as I hang up the phone and run over to the bathroom, brushing my teeth, brushing out my hair. I look a mess and my eyes are bloodshot. I barely recollect falling asleep last night.

I throw on a pair of blue jeans and a t-shirt, realizing there's no way I can look good in fifteen minutes. I'm a little humiliated and I still feel sticky and sweaty from the little sleep I got.

I run downstairs, ignoring the calls from Brooklyn. Troy's exemplary Audi is waiting on the side of the road, impatiently.

My hair is up in a messy bun. And I'm a mess.

With my backpack in my hands, I get in the passenger's seat.

Troy's looking at me with worried eyes. He looks great today, his hair clinging to his forehead as usual. His jeans are straight-legged as always. He's wearing a purple t-shirt that emphasizes his muscles. I'm even more ashamed when I look at him. Then look at myself.

"What's up?" He asks, putting his car into drive.

My eyes burn at the sunlight and I know they're watering. I grumble to myself and put on some sunglasses I grabbed from the kitchen table. Definitely not mine. Must be Brooklyn's.

"Gabriella, did you not set an alarm clock today?" Blue eyes ripping through me.

"I must have forgotten. I was really tired last night." I lie, hoping he doesn't see right through me.

Troy's not that keen. He just gives me a kiss on the cheek.

My cheek burns.

"How did you sleep?" I ask, trying to keep a conversation.

"Great. I dreamt of you," A cheesy grin and a wink causes me to redden.

If only I could dream of him. Then my sleep would be so wonderful every night. But a demon always interrupts my good thoughts.

"You know, I've been thinking… maybe I should get a haircut?" He suggests wildly.

I'm looking out the window, observing Albuquerque's mountains and desert.

Blue eyes meet brown eyes hastily. "Cut your hair? Why on earth would you even think such a thing?" I ask.

Troy's hair is well… gorgeous. Most guys would die to get hair like his. The way that it falls to his forehead so gracefully. How when he moves, it moves along with him. It's not too long, but not short. It's just right. And all the girls at school talk about it.

Troy seems insulted by my question. "Are you saying there are no good looks behind this hair?"

I want to burst out laughing so bad but I keep my laughter bubbled inside. "No, of course. You'd look great with short hair… it's just, in East High, your hair is legendary."

"Legendary?"

"You know, the way you sweep girls like me off their feet. It has a lot to do with your impeccable hairstyle. Beats out Justin Bieber's every time."

Troy makes a face. "Justin Bieber? Really? My hair was like this before he even became famous."

"I know. But people would be appalled if he cut his hair!"

"…. He did cut his hair. I think."

"And people were appalled!"

Troy shakes his head. "Who cares about Justin Biebs, El?"

"I'm just trying to explain, Troy. Your hair is pretty nice. Maybe one day you should cut it. But not today. I'm still getting used to it…" I run a hand through his hair dreamily as he keeps his eyes on the road.

I realize we're pulling into East High's parking lot. Troy gets out quickly, running to the passenger side so he can let me out. I give him a weak smile as he opens the door for me.

Such a gentlemen.

We walk together, side-by-side, through the hallway, heading towards my locker.

When we meet my locker, Troy already has that look on his face. That look that I love so much.

Within seconds, he's kissing me like it's only him and I in the world. Students pass, making faces and jokes. But he ignores them, our tongues coiling together in unison. Passion and fervency takes over and I'm running my hands through his crazy hair. I love his hair. I beg to the heavens he _never _picks up the scissors. Not without my consent.

And to my misfortune, the bell rings and the moment is broken. Of course, I want to talk to him about Brandon and the contract. But that seems too serious right now. We're both happy right here, consumed in the love we share for one another. Talking about Earl and the losses he's caused will only interrupt our bliss. I have to learn to appreciate the moments while I still have them… while I still have _him_.

"I love you Gabriella," He breathes, his eyes punching holes into my heart.

My heart and soul sings at his confession. "I love you too, wildcat."

And I watch him saunter away, admiring his every step.

* * *

Sitting in Trig, I'm bored out of my mind. Everybody is doing their homework or lost in conversation.

After tapping my pencil on the desk for the millionth time, the teacher makes her way towards my desk. I'm a little befuddled by her appearance.

"Gabriella? I just got this note for you." She says, handing me a pocket-sized letter.

She heads back to her desk while I unravel the piece of paper.

_Please give this to Gabriella Montez and inform her that Principal Matsui would like to speak to her in his office sometime during/before/after class, preferably before lunchtime. _

I read this again and again. For some reason, I'm a little lost. Why would the Principal want to talk to _me_? Did I do something wrong?

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I look up to my teacher. She gives me a nod, signaling that it's okay for me to go to the Principal's office.

My palms are sweating as I grab my backpack and get out of my seat. Kelsi gives me a worried glance, like maybe something's wrong. I know something's wrong. I'm so nervous. What have I done? Did Earl set me up, trying to get me in trouble?

The hallway is empty, everybody is in class. So white and red.

By time I approach the Principal's office, I've broke into complete diaphoresis. A little embarrassed, I quietly tip-toe into the secretary's office. To my surprise, Troy Bolton is sitting in one of the chairs.

"Troy?"

When Troy sees me, he gets up immediately, giving me a kiss on the cheek. "El, they sent you here too?"

"I have no idea why. Do you think Earl set us up? Or Sharpay? Or someone—"

"I'm sure it's nothing bad. We haven't done anything." Troy reasons as we both take a seat.

His blue eyes watch me for a second with apprehensiveness. Like I'm a fragile vase that could break any moment. "You look nervous."

"Of course I am! Who knows what could happen? What if we get expelled, for something we didn't do? Troy, I hoped to get into college and—"

"Gabriella. Relax. It's fine. We'll be okay. I promise." Troy's soothing smile eases me a little, but just not enough.

A few seconds pass and an older woman with a tight bun emerges from a room nearby. "Troy and Gabriella?" She asks. "Mr. Matsui waits for you." She leads us to a closed door and knocks softly.

"Come in," Principal Matsui replies.

Hesitantly, I follow Troy into the office. Principal Matsui directs us to the two chairs in front of his desk.

Obediently, we take a seat.

I cannot help but bite my fingernails in panic. What is this about? Troy, of course, looks as poised and as laid-back as ever. As if there's nothing to worry about. Sometimes his easygoingness just drives me crazy!

"Good afternoon." Matsui gives us a polite smile. "Ms. Montez, you seem a little nervous? Surely the two of you understand why I called for you?"

I shake my head. "No, we were actually just trying to figure that out."

Troy gives me a frown, like I shouldn't have cut to the chase. Should have been nicer. Oh, screw being nice. I have someone trying to kill me and my family!

"Ah… well, I'll start by first saying, I am deeply, _deeply _sorry about yesterday. I can't believe our staff here at East High would be so ignorant to not notice… to let someone drug your smoothie! It's awful. I'm taking precautions immediately, trying to figure out who to fire and…" Matsui rambles, his crow's-foot more noticeable.

And I believe him. He truly looks apologetic about everything. I realize that he must have called us down for that reason alone. The nurse must have talked with him.

"But… there were some students volunteering also, as you know." Matsui continues, looking away from us for a second. Then his eyes are back on us. "But you two, you're such great students. Gabriella, I would never suspect you to take the drugs yourself. You're exemplary and we are so honored to have you among our student body! This is why…" He pulls out a folder from the desk, finding a piece of paper crammed in the very middle. "I want you to look over these names and tell me if _any _of them, even just one… would be likely to hurt you."

I catch a glimpse of Troy's expression as Matsui hands me the paper. Blue eyes are on me and I feel a little overwhelmed going through the names listed on the paper.

Most of the names I recognize for they are in several of my classes. They're the know-it-all, the outstanding, academically-inclined geeks like me. They spend their days in the Chemistry lab or their nights studying their lives away. I can't even begin to blame any of them. They wouldn't dare hurt a soul.

My finger lands on a familiar name. _Ryan Evans_.

My eyes dart up, feeling a presence beside me. Troy is barely a centimeter away, also checking out the paper in my hands. His eyes find mine for a brief moment and I'm breathless. Beautiful blue oceans just melting me into the carpeting.

"Ms. Montez? Have you found one?" Matsui is impatient about all of this and doesn't support my fantasizing about Troy.

I break out of paradise and lift my eyes to meet my principal. "Ryan Evans is a possibility."

But a fraction of my brain says no way. Although Ryan is Sharpay's brother and a part of her group of cronies, Ryan is the most inactive person of the whole group. He wouldn't do something that drastic. He barely spoke a word to me as it is. He wouldn't have the gall to spike my smoothie. Or would he?

Even Troy looks skeptic over the idea.

I'm going down the list again, trying to find more suspects. However, there's no more I recognize. Martha is on the list but I know her, she's more of a friend then an enemy. Then again, do I even know my friends? Who's to say that Sharpay didn't hire someone to do her dirty work?

"I know it wasn't any of these, Principal Matsui. It was Earl! I know it was! Earl or Sharpay!" I burst out, unable to hold my thoughts in any longer.

"Gabriella, you don't know—"Troy begins to lecture at my erratic shouting.

"No, shut up, Troy!"

"Ms. Montez, there's no need for hostility…" Matsui cuts me off as Troy looks completely hurt that I would snap at him.

I'll admit, I never really snap. And I've just about had it.

"No, there _is_ sir. I've spent my whole adolescent years being tortured by Sharpay and her group of friends. Then Earl comes in and he starts ruining my life. People I love are getting hurt. And now he's trying to kill me. It's either him or Sharpay. I know so."

"Well, Earl did go to Juvenile Detention for quite some time, has always been a violent child. I could view his file…"

"View his file? Seriously?" This is it. I'm done with this.

I get up from my chair, grabbing my backpack.

"Ms. Montez, please. We can work this out, help you find out who did this!"

"_No_. I know who can help me. And it's not you."

* * *

I wait patiently outside in the parking lot, my cell phone ringing for minutes at a time. And with no answer, I keep redialing and trying again. I must look obsessive, like some frantic lunatic who just lost her mind. My hands are shaking as I redial the number again.

"Hello?" _Finally_.

Relief washes over me. "Brandon! Thank God…"

"Gabriella? What in the world…? Aren't you supposed to be at school?"

"I'm at school." I clarify. "Brandon, I'm going to sign the contract."

"Um, are you sure? What about Troy, and your dad?"

"They'll get over it. They're not the one with some crazy person following them around. I just blew up on my principal because he was just going to _look into _Earl's file. There's no proof that it was Earl. But I know it was!"

"No proof of him doing what?" Brandon seems really confused. "You're speaking gibberish. Chill. And blowing up on your principal? Not cool."

"You have the money. All you need is for me to sign the contract."

"Yes… but you remember the rules and regulations. And I really need a place to crash. So it'd be great if you could talk to your dad. Is Earl following you now? Did you see him?" Brandon sounds a little worried.

"No… but I can feel him everywhere. He's probably watching me right now." I shiver in spite of the sunlight being right on me. "I had no sleep last night. I think I'm delusion and… hysterical."

"Maybe. Do you need a ride home or something? Are you not going back to class?"

I think for a second. Skipping class seems so… unlike me. And I know Troy would be furious.

"Gabriella?" My thoughts are clouded when a familiar, beautiful blue-eyed boy walks out the school's doors.

"I gotta go," I tell Brandon. "I'll call you about everything later."

"K… well, let me know. You got me worried now."

I click the end button on my phone, throwing it into my purse.

Troy approaches me, looking flustered. "El, what… what's going on?"

"Everything," I breathe, careless of his proximity to me. "I had no sleep last night, Troy. No sleep!"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what? That I have nightmares that he's trying to kill me, or trying to rape me? That he ends up killing you or my Mama or…" I go on, feeling the weight on my heart. "I'm scared. Scared to death. And I talked to Brandon last night… he e-mailed me the contract."

"Oh?" Troy looks a little interested, but that may be fake interest.

"I need to sign it. I'm going to my dad's tonight. I'm going to beg him, Troy. Beg him. I'm so desperate… and Matsui is not going to do anything!"

"You don't know that. He could." Troy always so positive.

"Yeah. Right. I'm serious. And Brandon needs somewhere to stay. I'm hoping my dad will be okay with him staying at our house." I watch Troy's face as he processes these words.

Troy keeps his face straight but I can tell by the way he's rubbing the side of his arm that he's not comfortable with this idea.

"I wanted to get your opinion but…" I look to my feet. "I'm scared."

But Troy, oh holy, golden Troy Bolton, moves in on me, closing the space between us. I become tongue-tied as his lips are so close to mine. He's towering over me. Then, he brings his forehead to meet my own. Completion consumes me as I look into his eyes.

"Gabriella," His voice is so effortlessly sexy. "I'll do anything to keep you safe. Anything to keep you away from Earl. And I… trust you." The words are forced, so I think they're hard for him to say. "I trust you with Brandon. He's an old friend."

For some bizarre reason, I thought Troy would handle this the opposite way. Figuring he'd stomp off in a storm of anger. The way he reacted with Eddie… and Eddie isn't even that good-looking. Definitely not like Brandon. Those shoulders and those dark eyes…

However, I'm blessed by Troy's understanding. Most boyfriends wouldn't dare let their girlfriends do this. Then again, this is for my safety. Troy just wants me to be safe.

Although it's the middle of the school day and time for lunch, Troy and I are outside of the school, stuck in each other's embrace. This is nothing new, kind of cliché. But I'm still honored to be that girl. The girl that stole his heart.

He leads me into the cafeteria and I'm more composed now.

As we advance towards our normal seats, I notice a new body sitting in one of them. Chad.

My eyes bounce back to Troy, who seems unaffected by this. Maybe he invited him?

Lately, Chad's been amiable, saying hi to me in the halls, asking what Taylor says to me about him. It's been a little time since I've considered Chad Danforth one of my worst enemies.

Still, I'm cautious of him. He could be pretending.

Troy and I take our usual seats.

"Hey, hope it's cool I invited Chad to sit with us today."

Though I enjoy having a one-on-one conversation with Troy, I nod my head, as if it's fine.

"Cool. I'm so sick of sitting by Sharpay and them. They always talk about boring stuff," Chad says, directing his comment to Troy. "She's getting on my nerves lately."

"Yeah, well I think I scared her the other day, so don't feel bad." Troy chuckles, his eyes sparkling as he looks over to me, proud of himself.

"Scared her?" Chad looks entertained.

"She actually thought I was going to hurt her or something. They took Gabriella's clothes and just… it was a lot of drama." Troy shook his head as I try to oppress such memories.

"Geez." Chad just rolls his eyes. "Glad I wasn't involved."

"El, you want some food today?" Troy asks, looking over towards the lunch line.

"Um… think I'm going to sit it out today." I confess, biting down on my bottom lip.

Chad raises an eyebrow, obviously clueless on what happened the other day.

"It's alright. I'll go up there, get us something. I'll even have the cook's double check." Troy winks at me.

I give him a constrained smile. "You know, it's really fine, I'm not so hungry…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You'll be hungry when I come back!" He threatens, pointing a finger at me as he heads off towards the line.

It takes me a minute to discover it's just Chad and I.

Chad seems to be preoccupied by his cell phone. But eventually, his brown eyes look up.

"So… um," He looks a little lost on what to say, "I know I've been sort of an ass."

I can't even look at him when he says this. I so badly want to rip him to shreds but I decide to just be cool.

"And… you probably hate me for that. Sharpay told us a lot of stuff… about you, about Eric."

"Let me guess, that I _killed _Eric? Because why would I kill someone I was practically in love with, Chad?" My words are venom as I look Chad in the eyes finally.

Chad looks a little scared. "Hey, uh… never said that. I really liked you, Gabriella."

"Liked me? What are you talking about, Chad?"

He blushes a little, looking over to Troy in the lunch line. "I didn't want to go along with Sharpay and them. But I was a little mad because when Eric got here, you kind of just… dropped me."

"Dropped you? Chad… we were barely dating!" My eyes are wide as I cannot believe the conversation that's unfolding between us.

How I felt about Chad was a small crush, nothing too extreme. And I never thought he really even cared about me. Once Sharpay and he became close friends, he stopped talking to me. Though I will admit, that was around the time that Eric enrolled in school.

"You stopped talking to me!" I accuse him.

"I didn't. Eric enrolled and I could tell you really liked him! Then Sharpay said a bunch of stuff about you and I pretended to go along. I was so jealous. And… I'm sorry. Also sorry I kept it up for so long."

"Jealous? What? Chad, you didn't even like me."

"Gabriella," He whispers to where I have to lean in to hear him, "I was pretty much _in love _with you."

* * *

END OF CHAPTER

**A/N: **OMGOMGOMGOMGOMG. Review for next chapter? :)


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